


Two Very Different Coins

by teaandtumblr



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon, Character Development, childhood fic, comparative study, import from ff.net, old fic, so what else is new, uther is kind of a dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 08:16:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1597970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaandtumblr/pseuds/teaandtumblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the beginning they were different. Camelot and Ealdor, Uther and Hunith, factors that change, mold, and form a child. A glimpse into Arthur and Merlin's respective childhoods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Age 1: Paternity

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I decided I wanted to write something Merlin related but, apart from a reveal-fic – which, I must say, I have already seen many which would surpass anything I could write – I chose to go a different way and show excerpts of Arthur and Merlin growing up. I thought I'd start young and work up from there. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I clearly do not own Merlin, it belongs to BBC and I am simply dabbling in its world.

Uther frowned as his gaze followed the movement to his left. Placing his cutlery down as the figure stumbled yet again, the king devoted his full attention to his infant son, watching as, once more, Arthur tottered unsteadily on his feet. Three more steps towards the hearth and one of Arthur's leather bound feet caught on a raise in the rocks and he tipped forward, only just managing to catch himself on his hands. Expecting a cry or a whimper, Uther was remarkably surprised when the toddler simply pushed himself up with a frustrated sigh, rocking back and forth several times before finding enough balance to step forward.

Returning his attention to his supper, Uther gave the man to his left an unimpressed look. "I don't like it Gaius." The words were a statement, a declaration. "He's still far too unsteady on his feet."

The physician struggled within himself to fight the urge to gape. "But Sire, he's barely even one. And Arthur's already been walking near nine weeks. Many children would only be now taking their first steps, if that."

A moment of silence passed between them, Uther's eyes flickering to his son, ensuring the prince did not go too near the fire.

"I am still not reassured, despite your words."

"I am certain he will find his feet soon enough my Lord." Gaius allowed a bit of humour into his tone. "All too soon he will be running from you…and you'd better hope you can catch him."

Uther allowed himself a rare chuckle at that. "Why do you think I employ servants Gaius? I'm king. I don't have the time to be chasing Arthur."

While the humour was still in _his_ voice, it had faded from his faithful physician's. King Uther may have been, but that did not exempt him from his duties as a father. As little as he was and yes, incapable of coherent conversation, that did _not_ mean that Arthur did not need his time. If Uther did not seize his chances now, he would blink and they would be gone, never able to return.

"Arthur, come away."

A fair-blond head snapped up at that, blue eyes staring at his father curiously. Arthur remained painfully close to the open flame until Uther waved a hand, gesturing for the boy to come closer. As he set about obeying the command, Uther turned back to Gaius, whose attention had been brought back to the scene by his king's voice.

"At least I can be certain he understands how to _listen_. That gives me _some_ hope."

"Sire…" Gaius' voice was laced with hesitation. "Surely you are aware you are being too critical? I know that Arthur's birth…" A dark scowl was shot in his direction but he continued nonetheless. "The circumstances were not what anyone wanted…But you have no right to take that out on _Arthur_. He is merely a child, an _infant_ , Sire. He did not ask for it to be this way."

"How dare you!" Uther was on his feet, cutlery slamming into the table. "It is you, Gaius, who do not have the right to speak to me in such a way. I am your king. You would do well to remember that."

Whatever may have come next was not heard as Arthur, startled by the yelling, slipped on the step he was precariously climbing down. He gave a tiny cry of fright as he fell, toppling off the last stone stair. His head hit the hard floor with sickening force.

" _Arthur!"_

There had not even been a second's hesitation; Uther had swept from his chair and gathered his son into his arms before Gaius had managed to take more than a step or two. As the shock wore off and Arthur began to scream, tears running down his porcelain face, Uther pulled him close to his chest, smoothing down the fair hair and murmuring to him quietly.

"It's alright Arthur," Gaius said gently as he approached and began a quick examination. He winced at the blue bruise and raised lump that had already formed.

"Is it serious Gaius?" Uther demanded, having seen the bruise himself and having his own heart continue pounding in his chest as a consequence.

"I think he's very lucky Sire," came the slow, thoughtful answer. "A little more to the left and Arthur would have struck his temple. That would have knocked him out to be sure. But…I think some bruising balm should suffice. I could also wrap some snow; that may help reduce the swelling."

"Yes, do that Gaius." Uther dismissed him hurriedly. "I want you to do everything I can for my son. I will not see him hurt in my care. He is my _son_."

"Yes my Lord," Gaius replied as he bowed and took his leave.

Gaius mused on his hurried walk to his chambers that while, yes, an unfortunate accident, something good had come from it. It had finally allowed Uther to see through his own pain and acknowledge that of his son's.

A son Uther had only then for the very first time claimed ownership of.

Yes, Gaius thought. Things were looking up.

-)-(-

Even as Hunith stirred their supper over the fire, she had to tighten her grip on the wooden ladle she was using, feeling it start to slip from her grasp. Glancing across the room disapprovingly, the look could not stay on her face as Merlin beamed at her, a giggle erupting from his little mouth.

"I need this ladle Merlin," Hunith told him, tone both scolding and gentle.

Merlin's smile dropped momentarily as a frown took his face. Then he reached out a hand again and Hunith felt the ladle start to pull away from her. Snatching it back, the woman dropped it into the pot and served out a single bowl, all she could make with all she had. Placing it down beside her, Hunith dropped into her well worn rocking chair, holding an arm out invitingly.

"Come here my son."

Blue eyes lit up as a response, Merlin rocking himself out of the sitting position he had been in and onto all fours, starting his crawl across the small distance. Reaching his mother, Merlin's infant hands latched onto her dress, slowly hauling himself onto his feet, wavering there precariously until he was scooped up and plopped into a waiting lap. Once there, he immediately burrowed into his mother's neck, a hand clenching in the collar of her dress.

"Hello my Merlin," Hunith whispered, kissing the boy's head tenderly before running her fingers through his rough hair. "Hungry?"

She was not expecting a verbal response but Merlin's head _did_ lift from where it was buried, his eyes following her every movement with hawk-like sharpness. Merlin's inquisitiveness knew no bounds and Hunith could only fathom what sort of troubles that could land him in.

So consumed was she in her thoughts that the bowl she was bringing up leant too far in and some of the scolding stew fell onto her hand. Yanking her hand away instinctively, she paled a moment later, knowing that that was the only food they had until tomorrow evening at the earliest. She could not have afforded to drop it!

But even as Hunith reached for it desperately, knowing she would be too late, Merlin's eyes flashed gold and their supper suddenly stopped its descent, hovering in mid-air until it was retrieved by his mother. The woman brought it to her chest with trembling hands, doing her very best to ensure it was not dropped again.

"Thank you Merlin," she praised shakily, only to quickly add, "But no more. No more magic."

The smile she got in return was wholly innocent though something in Merlin's eyes made her pause and wonder if what she had seen was really a cheeky glint. For his sake, she hoped not.

As Hunith lay Merlin down to rest that night, she sighed, wrapping the thin blanket tighter around him. For one so young to have such a dangerous secret…She shook her head. She could only hoped it remained that:

A secret.

-)-(-


	2. Age 3: Impressions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I don't know if you've ever noticed this, but first impressions are often entirely wrong." ~ Lemony Snicket

-)-(-

"No Father. I drop it, I drop it."

"You will _not_."

It was impossible to tell if that statement was a reassurance or a warning. Whichever Uther had intended, Arthur took it almost as both, now resolved and also extremely terrified at the same time. With exaggerated care, the young prince held out the candle he was holding and placed its wick into the flame of the one resting on his father's table. He held his breath until his candle started to burn, only then very cautiously taking it away.

"Well done," came the deserved praise. "Now you must take the candle to your room and set it down."

Arthur stared up at his father with frightened eyes but he was merely ushered away with a wave of the hand. He didn't like this at all. He didn't like having to carry something that could fall and start a fire. Arthur had no doubt he would be severely punished should _that_ happen.

As his son picked his way to his room was excruciating slowness, Uther had to admit that he was rather unimpressed with this idea himself. But still, if Arthur were to have his own room, he would have to learn to light and carry a candle on his own. Uther knew that at a mere three years of age, Arthur was far too young for such responsibility, however he had been spurred into action by the event which had occurred not two nights ago.

An event in which a sorcerer had snuck into his palace and into Uther's own chambers.

It was only by chance that Uther had been awake and been able to summon the guards the moment the intruder had been spotted. It did not, however, escape his knowledge, that if the sorcerer had chosen to enter Arthur's room first – what with his son's chambers adjoining his – his son would be dead at this very moment.

And so Arthur was to be placed in a room that was a good distance away, alone and nigh impossible to get to unless an intruder happened to know exactly which turns to take. The plan was two-fold. One, it would protect Arthur and two, should either he or Uther be killed, the assassin would have no hope in reaching the other; the number of guards stationed between the two rooms would be impenetrable.

"Father?" Arthur's timid voice summoned him and Uther followed to sound to see his son standing by his miniature bed uncertainly. "What must I now?"

"Simply place the candle down and get into bed. There is nothing more required."

Having to stand up on tip-toe to do so, Arthur managed to stand the candle on his bedside table precariously before clambering into the bed itself. Uther gave a single nod and turned to leave the room.

"Father!"

"Yes Arthur?" Uther asked, turning around and praying his son would be quick.

Seeming to sense the impatience, Arthur sunk down slightly but was not deterred. "I don't want my own thambers."

"Chambers, Arthur, _chambers_. And you do not have a choice. You are being moved."

"Why?"

Deciding he deserved an explanation at the least, Uther came and crouched in front of the bed, holding his son's gaze and scolding Arthur when he broke the contact. "You are being moved so that you will be safe. Not two nights ago you could have been hurt in this very room. I will not have that happen again."

"The sorecer. Sorecers use magic."

"Yes, they do. An-"

"Magic is evil. Sorecers are evil."

"Yes Arthur, well done!" The pronunciation may have been wrong but Uther did not even bother to correct, too impressed by what he had just heard.

Arthur, seeing the rare smile he got in response to his words, could not help but grin back. Apparently he had done something right. Magic must truly be evil if he was so well praised by saying it was so! This was something he would have to keep in mind.

"Now, bed," Uther ordered, getting to his feet. "Be sure to blow the candle out before you go to sleep."

Seeing his son nod, the king departed the room, pulling the door shut behind him as he headed back down to the council meeting room. Arthur's day may be over, but that did not mean _his_ was.

Back in his room, Arthur gently blew on the candle, only growing more and more agitated as the flame merely wavered back and forth. Finally losing his patience, he huffed quite firmly, face splitting into another wide grin as the flame spluttered out. That made two things he had learnt today:

One, he could carry a candle on his own.

Two, magic was very evil.

-)-(-

"Keep behind me Merlin, do not stray so!"

The little Merlin giggled sheepishly, clambering out of the blackberry bush he had so 'eloquently' climbed into. Hunith laughed at the sight of her son smeared with dark juice, beckoning him over and scooping him into her arms when he was close enough.

"Must you always make such a mess?"

"Only myself Mother," was the honest reply, Merlin giving her a cheeky grin.

Rubbing off what juice she could and sighing at the parts that were already stained, Hunith chuckled. "Just be careful. Messes can be dangerous. Stay out of them Merlin."

"Yes Mother," he sighed as he was returned to the ground. "Where going?" He asked the next second, leaving Hunith to wonder if he really ever _did_ listen to her.

"We're going to find whatever berries we can."

"I find them! I find them!"

"Yes Merlin," she cut in gently, grasping one of the little arms that were being waved up and down enthusiastically. "But I intend for these to be taken _back_ to the village to be _shared_ , not for you to eat."

Merlin's face turned into a displeased frown, though it quickly dissipated when he was given a small wicker basket of his own. He put it over one arm and clapped excitedly, body exuding unbridled excitement. Kneeling down, Hunith took his slender shoulders in her hands, connecting their gaze, Merlin holding it unflinchingly. His head cocked to one side.

"Yes Mother?"

" _Be careful_ ," she instructed sternly. "And do not go too far from where I can see you."

Nodding solemnly, Merlin gave his mother a hug and a sloppy kiss before making off towards a small bush littered with brightly coloured berries. His hands, remarkably chubby even though the rest of him was certainly _not_ , plucked berries with less care than perhaps they needed, but they were salvageable and the toddler took great delight in collecting them.

His quest took him deeper into the surrounding forests, looking for different colours, trying each new berry he found, ignorant of the mess it left on his face. Merlin simply continued on his merry way, slipping hither and thither, grin growing wider with each new bunch he added to his ever-filling basket. It was only when he rounded one shrub and found himself on a small outcrop over a river did he suddenly think to look back.

Merlin hastily did so, a suitably guilty look on his face. He knew he should not have strayed so far. Failing to catch sight of his mother, Merlin bit his bottom lip a tad fearfully. Deciding he had better go, the little boy spun on his heel and prepared to run back the way he came.

Whether it was plain clumsiness or a more sinister attempt to prevent destiny, Merlin tripped over what truly appeared to be nothing. With a cry of fright, he toppled backwards, scrabbling at the lip of the outcrop only to tumble down regardless. His fall was short-lived, meeting its end by means of several rocks, more than a few jagged and plenty able to slice open an unsuspecting child's back. Merlin barely had time to register the pain, even if he _did_ manage to howl when it caught up with him, before he slid into the river. The next few minutes were a blur, composed of cold, pain, and an immeasurable sense of panic.

Finally, finally, his struggle was put to an end when he felt something grab his wrist, pulling him from the freezing water and onto the bank. Even as he continued to sob, Merlin looked up to his rescuer, tiny brow furrowing at what he saw. The creature, for it didn't look like any human _he_ had ever seen, bowed its head, a head which seemed to have green vines for hair. Her clothes – surely, it was a woman – were made out of flower petals and her smile was kind, if not a tad hesitant.

Merlin smiled warmly, tears forgotten as he took in the odd creature. "You pretty. Like a f'ower."

The dryad leant closer, intrigued. "You are…not afraid of me?"

"No," he giggled. "You…spec'al…Like me. Mother says I spec'al."

"Indeed you are, young Emrys. You are more special than you could ever know." Tenderly, reverently, she scooped up Merlin, brushing his hair off his face, studying him critically. "You have the most trialling destiny of all. But already you are wise." Merlin's expression was predictably confused but she continued nonetheless. "You do not see the different as the enemy. This you will need."

Merlin smiled at her tone, but his eyes held no understanding. "You take me Mother?" he asked innocently, sore and hurting and wanting nothing more than his mother's embrace.

"Of course," the dryad promised. "But first, I will do what I can to ease your pain." A warm hand was placed on his lacerated back. " _Cneás fágtar, colms mair. Meabhairs fágtar, ceacht mair._ "

Merlin did not get to question the words, a drowsiness coming over him as tingling spread through his body. When Hunith found him, some harrowing quarter hour later, she found him peacefully asleep on the riverbank, his basket sitting beside his head, near overflowing with berries. The only evidence of his experience were the scars that were sporadically marked on his back. And when asked how he had gotten them, Merlin would insist he could not remember.

For indeed, he could not remember how he had gotten them. He only knew that someone had healed the pain they had been bringing him and that that someone had been different. And that different, different was not bad.

-)-(-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Arthur and Merlin's first introduction to magic, one that sets up their respective futures. I wanted to have them different from the get-go because, really, at the start of season 1 they're two very different people. :) 
> 
> The dryad's spell literally translates as, "wounds leave, scars remain. Memories leave, lesson remain."


	3. Age 5: Socialisation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "From six months of age, a child starts to learn how to act socially. These views are completely formed and locked by age five." ~ Dr. Robi Sonderegger

Arthur could not hide the smile that was on his face as he strolled down the castle hallways, followed, as always, by two guards, both of whom were fully armed. Their presence had ceased being a bother to him and now they were simply seen as fact; when the young prince stepped out of his room, they followed. And that, as it were, was that.

But the smile on his young face came from an entirely different reason than knowing he had two of Camelot's best men at his beck and call. No, the smile was because, in what was quite the rare occasion, Arthur had been invited to dine with his father. He could not recall the last time he had been given such an opportunity, though he was somewhat confident it had been in the spring.

Reaching the doors to the dining hall, Arthur paused at one of the doors until it was opened for him. He gave a nod to the servant who had granted him access.

"Thank you," was Arthur's quiet, but nonetheless polite, response. He then rounded on his guards. "I no longer require you. You are free to go."

Wanting nothing more than to run to the chair beside where his father sat, it took every ounce of Arthur's strength to resist such an urge. Instead, he forced himself to walk calmly, albeit a _tad_ briskly, head held high. When he finally reached his father's side, he gave a short bow.

"Father."

"Arthur." Uther waited for his son to straighten before placing a kiss on his now dirty blond hair, hair that had been so fair in his infancy. "Come, join me."

With appallingly hidden eagerness, Arthur clambered into the chair he knew to be his, setting himself atop the two cushions that had been placed on his chair – placed there so he could see and reach over the table rather than to be of comfort.

"Tell me Arthur, has your day been productive?"

The question had the boy frowning but he hesitantly nodded. "Yes Sire," he murmured, speaking louder when a scolding look was sent his way. "I explored the grounds today. The knights were most…helpful-" There was a pause as he wondered if this was the right word before continuing, apparently deciding that it was. "They showed me where to hunt. Can I go on a hunt?"

" _May_ you go on a hunt, Arthur. And we shall see."

Their conversation continued back and forth, Arthur revelling in the opportunity to simply _speak_ to his father while Uther used it to measure his son's progress and knowledge. Already he had noticed several areas that needed improvement. He closed his eyes a moment to clear his thoughts, attention regained when he heard Arthur beckon a waiting servant over.

"May you fetch some more grapes please?" he requested, pointing at the empty plate that had once held said fruit. When the servant nodded, the boy said a quick "Thank you."

It was enough to make Uther frown.

"Arthur, look at me." The tone called for instant obedience and that is exactly what it got, his son's azure eyes slightly widened. "Who told you to address a servant in such a way?"

Arthur frowned. "In what such way Father? I have always been allowed to command the servants."

"You used both 'please' _and_ 'thank you'." Uther looked almost disgusted. "He is a _servant_ Arthur."

"But…is he not still a person?"

The innocent question had Uther scowling. "He is a servant, nothing more, nothing less. Servants are here to do their jobs. They are _paid_ to do what you ask. You do not need to thank them. Their wages are thanks enough."

"I-"

Arthur was met with a hard stare. "There is no argument to this Arthur. You will address servants in the manner in which they deserve. No more of this…gratitude." Almost as if to prove his point, Uther's goblet chose that moment to become empty. "You," Uther called, summoning one of the other servants in the room. "Go and fetch some more wine."

"Yes my Lord."

"You see?" He turned back to his son. "No thanks needed."

Their dinner returned to meagre conversation but the frown on both their faces spoke volumes. Both were clearly wrestling with thoughts. Once dinner had ended, Arthur had excused himself and made for the door, no doubt intending to return to his room. He had only just had the door opened for him when a hand was abruptly placed on his shoulder. Whipping his head up, the five-year-old stared up at his father in confusion.

"I will see Arthur to his chambers tonight," Uther said crisply, an order which translated as Arthur's guards being dismissed. As they disappeared, the king steered his son through the halls.

"…Father?" Arthur called after some time of silence. "This…My chambers are not this way."

"I know, but there is someone I would like you to see."

Intrigued, Arthur quickened his pace, now easily matching Uther's long strides. His interested only piqued when they were lead down into the dungeons. Nodding to the guards, both of whom, when confident Uther was not looking of course, frowned in concern when they saw Arthur a step behind, Uther pulled his son to a halt outside an occupied cell.

"Take a good look Arthur."

Arthur stepped up to the bars, tiny hands curling over the rusted metal as he peered through the gaps. A man lay on the floor, clothes dirty and hair greasy. The man had rolled over upon hearing them, and he straightened upon spotting Arthur. Something flashed in his eyes and then he was on his knees, making for the cell door. Before Arthur could even move, Uther dragged him away, pressing his son's back against his front possessively.

"You stay away from my son."

"My prince, _please_ ," the man pleaded. "You cannot leave me here, I have done no wrong."

"Do not listen to this man Arthur," Uther's voice cut into his thoughts like a knife and Arthur looked up, his father locking their gazes together. "He is a sorcerer, and he is trying to trick you. They will do anything to survive. You must beware of them."

"Sire, that is not true. I am no sorcerer! I swear to you."

"You cannot take a sorcerer's word; they are all lies. As you yourself have told me Arthur, they practice magic-"

"-And magic is evil," Arthur finished with a nod. When his gaze returned to the prisoner, the unfortunate man shuddered in dread at the coldness he saw there.

"No boy, no." There was no anger in his tone, only sadness.

Arthur glared at him, his father's words at the forefront of his mind as he lifted his arms to fold them across his chest tightly, a gesture he had seen Uther do many a time when displeased. "I hope you _burn_."

With that, Arthur spun on his heel and marched out of the dungeons. As Uther watched with pride and a grand sense of satisfaction, a voice called out to him from behind the bars.

"You will pay Uther Pendragon! May God curse you for what you have created in that child!" The man's features were set, but his eyes glistened with tears. "You have corrupted him, for your own selfish purposes! I hope one day he sees you for the liar you are…And I hope he kills you for it!" His voice dropped painfully low. "Only a monster desires to instil such hatred in a child."

Uther's gaze was icy when it met his. "I believe my son is right in this case…For the crime of sorcery, I shall have you burned at the stake. This is what your _prince_ commands."

The prisoner shook his head in despair. "…Then I fear for Camelot…"

-)-(-

_Crash!_

" _Merlin?_ "

Hunith spun around in alarm as her young son barrelled through the front door before throwing himself on the bed, head buried in his arms. The concerned woman was quick to abandon their supper preparations when she saw Merlin's shoulders start to shake, the sound of poorly hidden crying accompanying the gesture. She rushed to the bedside, sitting down beside her son and running a hand through his hair worriedly.

"Merlin? Merlin, son, what's wrong? What happened?"

"Nothing," came the pitiful muffled reply.

Hunith frowned at her son and, even though he couldn't see her, he squirmed, as if knowing what she was doing. "I don't believe that." She then forcibly hefted Merlin up, pulling him into her lap, eyes studying his tear-stained forced. "Now, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Merlin insisted again, scrubbing at his eyes weakly. "I just…it…" His eyes suddenly widened. "I didn't do magic Mother, I swear! I promise you I didn't!"

Hunith started at the desperate tone before soothing down his hair. "I didn't think that you had," she told him, feeling rather _guilty_ at the relief that filled her boy's features.

"Oh, well that's alright then," came the forced cheeky remark. Merlin then sighed. "Mother, am I…different?"

The question was enough to have her concerned. "Of course not. Why? Who said that you were?"

"Well, no one," Merlin admitted, fiddling with his hands absently. "But I…Will's ill Mother. He has to stay inside until he's better."

Hunith nodded uncertainly, quite perplexed as to why this was relevant.

"I did still want to play though." Merlin tugged on the end of his sleeve. "I asked Brayden if I could play with him instead. He…he didn't like me very much Mother. He said I couldn't play with him!" Once again Merlin's eyes were filling with tears. "But then Matthew scolded him and said he must let me play and he did but he didn't want to!"

Hunith wasn't very sure if she liked when this was going. "What did Brayden do to you?"

Merlin rubbed his face with the heel of his palm before brokenly saying, "He let me play with his friends but when we went to play in the woods he said…he said nobody liked me and…and that I was a freak…He said I was weak and funny looking…"

The five-year-old could not continue, losing his voice as sobs took over. Hunith hushed him softly, running a gentle hand through his hair and pressing their cheeks together. She would be having a stern word to Brayden's mother tomorrow. Her son being spoken to in such a way was not to be tolerated. She knew that children could be cruel, but such behaviour was inexcusable.

"Merlin, Merlin, my boy," she whispered, kissing his moist cheek. "Do not believe him."

"He made me cry Mother!" Merlin's face contorted into a frown as anger took the place of his sorrow. "He wanted to, I know he did!...I could make him cry."

There was a dark edge to his voice that made Hunith shudder. " _Merlin…_ " The tone was a warning.

"No Mother!" Merlin yelled, jumping off her lap, turning to face her before declaring with a stamp of his foot: "It's my magic and I can do what I want with it!"

Before she could stop him he sprinted for the back door, flinging it open and vanishing out. Hunith was on his heels instantly, managing to catch him before he had gone not even ten feet. She grasped Merlin's arm in one of her hands, pulling him back and into her arms, hugging him fiercely.

"I don't like this Mother, it hurts!" Merlin sobbed, hands fisting in her dress. "He hurt me. _Why can I not hurt him back?_ "

_**Crack!** _

The thundering sound scared them both terribly, Merlin giving a cry of fright while Hunith tightened her protective grip. Looking to find the source of the sound, both stiffened when they sighted the tree that lay on the edge of the woods surrounding their village. What made it capture their attention though, was the sudden split that had appeared from its tallest tip to the base of its trunk. It was like a sword had sliced through it, as easily as if it were made of mere paper.

"…Merlin…"

Merlin's eyes widened in fear and he began to tremble. "Mother, I'm sorry! I didn't…I didn't mean to…I…I…"

"Hush, now. Come inside, and let's not think about it any more. You cannot undo what is done." Hunith's voice was rushed as she began to tug her son towards their home, afraid that they should be seen.

"…I really am a freak."

" _Merlin!_ "

The harsh snap had him freezing and Hunith crouched down, taking his shoulders in her hands firmly.

"You are not a freak, nor will you ever be. You are my _son_ and I love you more than anything in the world."

"But…" he stammered. "But I just…And Brayden said-"

"What he said is not important. It is not for us to let other's words decide for us who we are," Hunith stressed. "Nor should _we_ judge others on their words. We are all of us people and we all are to be treated with kindness and respect."

Merlin furrowed his brow. "Even Brayden?"

"Yes Merlin," she laughed, albeit sadly. " _Even_ Brayden. If he, or rather anyone, should say anything that is rude or unkind, do not return in kind. We not do insult others if they insult us."

"Then what should I do?" Merlin asked, deeply intrigued.

Hunith smiled, taking his face in her hands. "Smile. Pretend his words do not bother you and smile. If you smile long enough, the world will smile back."

"So I must smile even when I am hurt?" he sounded confused, not that Hunith could blame him.

"Yes, you must at least try."

Merlin stared at her a long while before nodding resolutely, straightening his shoulders. "Then I will try."

Hunith sighed, kissing his forehead before leading him back to the house. "Then I have no doubt you will succeed."

-)-(-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Uther's "parenting" isn't all that flash but, unfortunately, Arthur still hero-worships him and so listens to him regardless. And Merlin's being the taught the exact opposite side of the coin. I love making all their little differences!


	4. Age 7: Education

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Nothing that is worth knowing can be taught." ~ Oscar Wilde

The sun filtered through the window panes, bathing certain areas of the room in light, the rest left in a twilight-like shadow. In the middle of one square of light sat a lone desk, a seven-year-old Arthur seated at it, head bowed as he studied. A finger ran over the page in front of him, following each line as he mouthed words to himself. His tutor had long since left but Arthur had remained, desperate to persist.

A _creak_ ing sound had his head lifting, wincing as his neck protested, stiff from being in the same bent position for such an extended period of time. He stumbled to his feet as the figure entered the room.

"Father," he greeted, hurriedly bowing.

Uther nodded to his son, gesturing for him to return to his studies. Arthur did so hesitantly. Whenever his father watched him it made him nervous, so overly self-conscious that he had hardly focus. He fought the urge to shy away when a hand was placed on the back of his chair, another on the corner of his desk, Uther eyeing his work critically.

"And how are your studies progressing Arthur?"

"Quite well Sire." Arthur was, despite definitely being _uncomfortable_ , proud of his accomplishments and he was certainly _not_ about to talk them down. He had been working exceptionally hard.

Uther raised his eyebrows at the firm answer, mildly impressed by his son's spirit. Leaning further over, he flipped the thick, heavy page back. A finger stabbed at the top of the chapter.

"Read it," he commanded.

"Y-yes Father," Arthur stammered, taking a deep breath before beginning, a finger running over the lines again. "'In the beginning God made of nought heaven and earth." He stopped, only to be urged on. "…Forsooth the earth was…idle and void, and darkness we-…darkness _es_ were on the face of depth; and the…the Spirit of the Lord was bor…bornay…?"

" _Borne_ , Arthur."

Arthur shrunk under the irritated criticism, swallowing thickly before continuing, his confidence severely rattled. "…borne on the waters…And the ev…en…ti…de… _eventide_ and the mo-…" He squirmed as he stumbled on the unfamiliar word. "The mor…morrow…'"

_Thud._

He jerked back in surprise as the book was suddenly slammed shut, Arthur barely having time to snatch his hand away before it was caught between the leather-bound pages. His eyes flickered up to his father and it took all of his resolve not to cower under the fierce glare being directed towards him.

"The word was 'morrowtide'," was Uther's exasperated comment. "How could you not have known this?"

Arthur's words caught in his throat a moment before he quickly protested, "I _was_ trying."

Some of Uther's anger drained away at that and he nodded, mostly to himself. "Yes, of course you were." His tone was almost dismissive. "You will assure me that you will practise some more before I next review your studies?"

The boy nodded hastily. "Yes Sire, of course I will."

Uther gave him a calculating look before taking his leave of the room. Once the door was shut, Arthur dropped into his abandoned chair, staring at the Bible in front of him before shoving it away hatefully. Stupid thing! If only it didn't contain such…ridiculous words! If it contained words he actually spoke then perhaps he would not have stumbled so.

"Think fast."

Arthur's head snapped up and he was unable to stop the yelp that escaped his throat when a wooden sword came flying in his direction. To his credit though, he _did_ manage to capture the toy by the hilt, even if it did result in him toppling off his chair. Arthur gathered his legs beneath him and scrambled to his feet within seconds, staring at his father in alarm.

"If that had been the battlefield there would have been no warning," Uther informed him coldly, stepping towards him, a wooden sword of his own in his hands. "Always be on your guard. As Prince Arthur, you cannot afford to not be."

"I understand." Tightening his grip on the hilt, Arthur moved into his preferred stance, one foot in front of the other, body bent, and sword held out defensively in front of him.

Uther took in the stance, a rare hint of pride glinting in his eyes for a moment. "Very good Arthur." He smiled. "Now kill me."

Arthur blinked in shock, sword lowering as he wondered if he really had heard what he'd thought he'd heard. The next second he was crying out as his shoulder slammed into the stone floor. In that moment he had been distracted, Uther had struck, knocking his own son to the floor.

"Orders are to be obeyed Arthur, both instantly and without thought." He watched as his boy picked himself up, expression torn between indignant and betrayed. "Anything more than that can lead to a man's death," he continued sternly, beckoning Arthur forward with a hand and enticing him to strike.

"But what if the order is wrong?" Arthur questioned as he swung, eyes narrowing as he was easily blocked.

Uther pushed him away effortlessly, giving him a moment before waving Arthur back. "There is no such thing-" A block. "- as a wrong order." Parry. "To question them-" Strike. "-is to put lives at risk."

Arthur dodged Uther's 'strike', though strike could hardly be the correct word seeing as how the king was merely toying with his son, and came back with a powerful blow of his own. With an expert flick of his wrist, Uther sent Arthur's sword skittering away, knocking his son's feet out from under him and firmly pressed his own sword's tip into Arthur's chest, right above where his heart was located.

"I see your sword skills are as dismal as your literary skills. This will not be tolerated any longer."

With that, Uther swept from the room. A shaken Arthur was left alone on the floor, heart thudding in his chest, eventually pushing himself up and retrieving his lost sword. Taking the sword up, it was well into the night before Arthur finally stopped his swords drills, arms shaking and breath coming in pants.

From then on, there was not a single day in which Arthur did not dedicate a good hour to sword practice, both morning and night. It was also from then on that a new tutor was brought into Camelot. The man was strict and unmerciful, his threat of the birch frightening Arthur to the extent that he never again made an error.

Uther was satisfied, even if Arthur was not.

-)-(-

"A, a, apple. B, b, branch. C, c, kingdom. D, d-"

"No Merlin, try again."

The soft reprimand had Merlin looking between his mother and the letters carved into a block of wood in bewilderment. Frowning heavily, he turned back to the crude alphabet his mother had made him, muttering each letter under his breath.

"Mother…" he whined after a minute or two.

Hunith spared her son a smile, rather inclined to laugh at his frustrated pout. "It is not 'c for kingdom'. Kingdom is with a 'k'. Try 'castle' instead," she suggested.

Merlin's pout simply became more pronounced. "Castle and kingdom are the same," he said flatly, folding his arms.

"They _do_ sound the same," Hunith conceded, abandoning her sewing and coming over to where her son was. She whisked the boy up, sitting down herself before bringing him onto her lap. "Now," she murmured, running a hand through his matted hair. "Try again, my son. I'll help you if you stumble."

Merlin craned his neck to kiss her cheek swiftly before reaching out for the board, pointing to each letter in turn. In truth, there were very few letters he stumbled on. He knew their shapes and he knew their sounds. The only _real_ warning he got as when he'd thoughtlessly rattled off, "m, m, magic". At Hunith's sharp scolding he'd been quick to change it to "m, m, Mother".

Once finished with his reading, Merlin had settled cross-legged on the floor with a small pile of dirt in front of him. With a hand he spread the dirt, proceeding to draw in it with his finger, eyebrows knotted together as he tried to recreate the letters he could see so clearly in his mind. Once he'd gotten passed the 'm' and the 'e', the rest of his name flowed easily. Finishing, he erased his work and started again.

Hunith watched him, a hint of sadness in her eyes. Merlin was clever, she could see it, but there was little she could do to aid him. They did not own any books, nor could she afford to buy any. Writing in the dirt was not her wish either, but again, parchment, ink and quills were all beyond what she could afford. There was very little that she could give Merlin besides food and a home. But, to his credit, there was nothing more he ever asked for. Perhaps he was not even aware that there was such a thing as 'more'.

"Mother?" Merlin's hesitant voice broke through her thoughts and she looked up to find her son right in front of her, eyeing her intently. "Is something the matter?"

"No Merlin," she assured, placing a hand on his cheek tenderly. "Everything is fine. Have you finished?"

Merlin sighed, flapping his arms against his side. "No, but I am bored."

Hunith could not help but laugh at his honesty. Merlin's face split into a grin in response, eyes crinkling as he laughed. Stepping away, Hunith came to crouch by his latest attempt, sending her son an openly proud look when she saw what he had done.

"This is beautiful Merlin," she praised, watching the seven-year-old blush bashfully. "How clever you are."

"Mother?" Merlin asked, placing a hand on her arm to ensure he had her full attention, something that indicated he was being now entirely serious. "Why must I learn to read and write? No one else in Ealdor does. They say we are farmers."

Hunith nodded, swivelling so she could face him head on. "That is true, but that does not mean we cannot learn. We have as much right to learn as anyone else."

Merlin frowned. "But why me? Why do I have to? _I'm_ not so smart. Will says I'm an idiot," he revealed, smiling broadly. "But it's alright when _he_ says it. He's not being mean, is he? He means it nicely."

"Merlin," Hunith chuckled, wanting to scold him but unable to withhold her grin with that infectious smile being sent her way. "I teach you because you want to learn. You do want to, don't you?"

The knowing tone had Merlin ducking away, toeing the ground for a moment before eventually nodding, rubbing his neck sheepishly. With curiousity like his, knowledge was a _reward_. An opportunity to learn was seized with both hands and an open mind.

"Now," Hunith said, grasping Merlin's shoulders and turning him towards the door. "Go and explore. It will not be long before the sun sets."

Merlin nodded before running from the house, eyes wide with excitement. He scaled the back wall of their farm and made for the woods. In the woods he could hide. In the woods he could be alone. And in the woods, he could do his own kind of learning, or perhaps experimenting, as it should more accurately be called.

He was headed straight for the stream when a shrill sound caught his attention, causing him to blunder to a halt, barely catching himself on a tree trunk before he tripped over his own feet. Surveying the area, it did not take Merlin long to find what was making the sound; a robin with a broken wing. Scurrying to its side, Merlin cupped the bird in his hands, cradling it tenderly.

Hushing it when it began to shriek in either protest or pain, Merlin gave a furtive look around before staring at the broken wing unblinkingly. A surge rushed through him, followed by a _snap!_ Looking down, Merlin watched as the robin froze before twitching its wing experimentally. Finding no accompanying pain, the bird flapped its wings harder, an action that prompted Merlin into flattening his hands. With a flat surface to launch from, the robin gave two hops before jumping, wings flapping and quickly catching the wind, taking it far away from his sight.

Proud of his accomplishment, it was with a blinding grin that Merlin continued onto the stream. Reaching it, Merlin slid down the bank before crouching right on the water's edge. With a hand extended over the water, there was flash of gold in his eyes and then the water froze. Beaming, Merlin pressed his hand down onto it, only to nearly over-balance and fall in when the thin layer of ice gave way. Eyes narrowing in determination, he tried again.

Unbeknownst to him, Hunith looked on from afar, watching as Merlin continued attempting to create a bridge across the river. It would be some time before he realised the water underneath the surface kept flowing and would needed to be frozen too. But that was something he would discover on his own and he would be wiser for it.

For while Hunith did not encourage Merlin to use his magic – in fact, his use of it often frightened her – she was not ignorant enough to believe that he had been given it without a purpose. Merlin had been bestowed with magic for a reason and so, while she would not teach, or even _could_ not, she would allow him to teach himself.

But only here. Only where no one could see it. Only where it was secret.

-)-(-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Uther pushes Arthur a lot, hey? I admit I got some ideas from the episode 'Lancelot' but, to be fair, Arthur had to learn it from somewhere. At least Hunith is more down to earth and realistic. I like her. She always seems nice. :)


	5. Age 8: Compassion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "When their suffering is a little greater than my suffering, I feel that I am a little cruel." ~ Antonio Porchia

Despite the blazing fire that was burning in his room, Arthur's young body shuddered with cold. This winter was unlike any he had ever experienced before. He had heard the elders of the council say that they believed it to be the coldest winter Camelot had been forced to endure.

Standing on the stool that allowed him to reach his window, Arthur stared down at the commoners gathered in the courtyard below. All had been unprepared for such brutal weather, and now resources were running short. Arthur had heard the rumours. Food was becoming scarce and no one could travel to the other kingdoms to buy supplies; the journey alone would kill them. Nothing could survive in such brutal temperatures.

And so, many of the poorer of Camelot were beginning to starve.

"Sire."

The call had him spinning around to see a servant bowing as they placed his midday meal on the table closest to the fire. Arthur gave a dismissive nod to show he had seen the gesture and then the servant took their leave.

Looking down at the shivering people below one last time, Arthur sighed before hopping off his stool. Moving to the table, he was compelled, for the first time, to truly look at what he had been given. And when he did so, a frown contorted his features. There was a lot of food. He would not eat all of it – in fact, he never did. So why then was he given it? Surely some of it could be given to others who did not have any?

His young face remained a frown as he sat himself down, idly picking at the food he had so generously been given. With each chew came another thought and before not even a third of his meal was eaten, he had made up his mind.

Abandoning his plate, Arthur made for his cupboard, snagging a thick, fur shawl and his thickest set of leather gloves. Yes, they had been designed for his sword practice to protect his young hands, but they would also prove useful in keeping out the cold. Doubting whether his father would allow him to do this, Arthur avoided the main door where two guards would undoubtedly be stationed and instead slipped out the side door of his chambers, jogging down the spiral staircase located beyond.

A stop off at the kitchens, something that earned him a disapproving look, though Arthur attributed that to the fact that the cook did not understand his intentions for all the food, and then Arthur was climbing the last staircase that led him to the room he desired. He did not even knock before pushing the door open, entering the room without hesitation.

"Sire!" There was no hiding the confusion on Gaius' old face upon sighting him. "To what do I owe this visit? Are you unwell?"

Arthur hesitated a single moment before stating firmly, "I will be accompanying you on your rounds."

Gaius immediately frowned. "Sire, it is extremely dangerous outside with this weather. I do not think your father-"

" _Gaius_ ," the boy interrupted with a drawl. "I was not _asking_ permission. I am coming with you, understand?"

The condescending tone had the physician look very much as though he might _scowl_ , but he hastily pushed down such a reaction and settled for raising an eyebrow. He was met with a defiant folding of the arms and an impatient glare. Well, at least Arthur had not lost any of Uther's stubbornness.

"Very well Sire," he finally sighed, finishing packing his medical supplies, looking over Arthur in a sweeping glance. "At least you've had the sense to dress warmly. Your father would have my head if you come back frostbitten."

Knowing the physician was trying to goad him into asking what 'frostbite' was so he could no doubt provide some horrific definition, Arthur pointedly ignored the question, adjusting the package he had stowed under one arm and moving to the door.

"And may I ask what you're taking with you?" Gaius asked, indicating the package as he gathered the last of his things.

"It is only something the people deserve," was the prince's cryptic answer.

Seeing that further prying would not get him a different result, Gaius sighed one last time in exasperation before opening the door. Arthur was right on his heels, something Gaius constantly checked. To lose Arthur would be a fatal mistake and not one _he_ was going to make. As they crossed the courtyard it did not escape his notice that Arthur stayed as far from the guards' lines of sight as possible. It only made him purse his lips. Yes, he hadn't thought Arthur had been granted permission to come with him.

He went to urge the prince to change his mind once more but Arthur shot him a warning look before his mouth could even be opened. Lifting his head proudly, Arthur simply strode beside him, azure eyes taking in everything. As he saw more and more of the people that one day become his, the pride began to sink from his frame and an emotion that could only be described as compassion took its place.

"Arthur," Gaius' voice was soft, so as not to startle him. Looking up the physician, the old man indicated a rickety house to their left. "This is my first stop."

Nodding, Arthur doggedly followed, closing the door behind them and waiting by it, not wanting to intrude on this family's house. The residents started upon seeing him, knowing who he was just on sight. Seeing their expressions, Gaius was quick to reassure them that there was no need for alarm. The visit was a quick one, Gaius being there to check up on the unfortunate baby that had decided to be born not three weeks earlier. From the look on his weathered face, Arthur knew that the physician doubted the infant's survival.

As they prepared to leave, Arthur swallowed thickly before stepping forward and pulling a loaf of bread out of his package. "Here," he said, handing it to the daughter that seemed closest to his age. "You need it more than I do," he added when it looked as though she would refuse. "Take it, for I cannot promise if there will be more any time soon. I…I wish I could do more."

A gentle yet firm hand on his shoulder had his head lifting, surprised to find the father staring down at him with tears in his eyes. "Thank you Prince Arthur. We will not forget this. You will grow into a fine king."

Flushing under the unexpected praise, Arthur backed out of the man's reach, moving to Gaius' side and waiting to be led out of the house. Gaius gave the man a thankful nod over Arthur's head. For the prince to hear that he was actually _good_ at something was alien to him, but it was most definitely something he _needed_ to hear.

From that house, their visits were much the same. Arthur would take the time to merely observe those who lived so close and yet so far from him, offering whatever he could in response to their needs. Not long after Gaius had finished the first half of his rounds, Arthur began to shiver, the cold so much more biting here than in the castle and certainly getting to him. He would not hear of turning back however and pressed on, even when Gaius urged him to stop. His mind was made up, and it would not be persuaded otherwise.

Bidding farewell to their final family, Gaius hurriedly steered them towards the palace. Arthur's shivering had only become more pronounced and his teeth were starting to chatter. With a fatherly gesture, Gaius led him through the courtyard.

"I hope your adventure was worth all this," he stated disapprovingly.

Arthur's look was as hard as stone. "I do not regret it."

"Arthur!"

Said boy froze when his father's voice suddenly rang out. Even without looking he could _hear_ the anger in the tone.

"Is that regret coming now?"

Arthur gaped at Gaius for being so bold before he smiled against his will, dipping his head to hide the grin as much as possible. Then, with a curt nod, he crossed the courtyard and climbed the steps to the palace doors, where the king stood waiting.

"What on earth are you doing?" Uther demanded.

Arthur squared his shoulders. "I was seeing to my people. They needed my help, I felt compelled to give it to them."

The statement caught Uther off guard momentarily, but that was all: momentarily. "They are not your concern. You could have caught your death out here. It is far too cold."

"Many of our people have already caught their death!" Arthur protested. "If they must endure this then why mustn't I?"

"Because you are their prince, not their friend," Uther snapped, firmly steering him inside.

"And why can I not be both?"

A moment of tense silence spread between them. "A king cannot befriend his subjects," Uther informed him, voice clipped and emotionless. "To do so is weakness."

With that, he left, but not before ordering the guards to escort Arthur to his chambers. It was then, for the first, that Arthur's mind began to question his father's words. For there, in the lower town, he had been those families' friend.

And he did _not_ feel any weaker because of it.

-)-(-

Somehow, it did not feel any warmer inside than it did outside and Merlin found that impossible. How could it be so utterly freezing _inside_ when they had a fire burning? While perhaps the fire was not so very large, it was a fire nonetheless. And yet, still, sitting so close beside it, Merlin found it did not warm him – not completely anyway. He could not remember when he had last not felt cold. He was entirely confident he had been shivering for several weeks straight.

"Oh Merlin."

His head whipped up from where he was huddled on the ground, a wispy blanket wrapped around his thin shoulders. Hunith eyed him sadly, kneeling down beside him and pulling him close, biting her lip to stop tears from falling as she felt his body shake in her arms.

"I'm so sorry my boy," she whispered, tightening her grip and running a hand through his coarse hair. "I wish there was more I could do for you."

Merlin simply swivelled in her grasp, burying himself further into her arms, his pale hands tightening in his neckerchief in a futile attempt to keep them warm. No words were said as they sat together for several extended moments. Merlin knew that his mother was trying, and he could not blame her for anything they lacked. It was not as though they were the only ones going without.

With a sigh, Hunith extracted herself from the embrace, shifting Merlin closer to the fire and wrapping the worn blanket around him snugly. "You stay here Merlin. Stay here and stay warm."

Curious and slightly troubled blue eyes gazed up at her. "Mother? Where are you going?"

She rubbed a thumb across his cheek tenderly. "I'm going to go and see what food there is today."

Merlin abandoned his blanket, stumbling to his feet and tucking his hands into his armpits. "Then I will come too."

Hunith shook her head firmly, eyes flickering to the window. "It's far too cold out there. You need to stay here."

"No," Merlin protested stubbornly, shaking his head. "If you're going outside then you're going to get cold too. I want to come. I don't mind if I get cold."

"I know you don't," Hunith whispered, taking his shoulders in her hands. "But this cold is _dangerous_."

"Then it is dangerous for you too," her son frowned. "And I want to come with you! I want to keep you safe."

Seeing the determination in his eyes and knowing that his love for her would have him following regardless, the woman finally give in, nodding slowly. She gathered what material she could and wrapped it around her son, doing her best to prevent him from potentially freezing. There was little on his bones to keep him warm at the best of times.

Once content that Merlin was as rugged up as possible, Hunith took his hand and stepped out the front door. Merlin gasped as the cold air hit him like a punch, only now realising just how much warmer it had been inside. It had not _felt_ warm inside, but compared to what was outside…He shuddered, shifting as close to his mother as he could.

Hunith eyed him worriedly before hurrying over to the small barn house that held their supplies. Every day one of the villagers would pass out the food they had rationed aside for the day. Slipping inside that thatch-roofed structure, it did not take Hunith long to collect what meagre rations were there. She did manage a smile though when Merlin was given a tiny honey loaf, rare treats that had been put aside for the children.

The trek back to the house was done in blistering cold and when Marion pulled her up to speak with her, Hunith hastily hid her desperation, wanting nothing more than to get Merlin back inside. But Marion was determined to talk and Merlin had excused himself, jogging over to some of the older and more foolish – for only in foolishness would one be outside in such biting cold - Baster children.

When Hunith was finally able to excuse herself, she beckoned Merlin over and he quickly ran to her side, though it did _not_ escape her notice that his precious honey loaf was gone.

"Merlin, where is your bread?"

He dragged a toe across the ground sheepishly. "Lloyd was hungry Mother."

"Merlin," she sighed, shaking her head. "Son, we are all hungry. I can see that you are too. You will starve if you give away all that is yours."

"But Mother!" Merlin argued, voice resolute. "How can I not when he is so hungry? I don't care what happens to me," he said with a firm nod. "If I can help others than I will! I cannot let others suffer when I know I can do something about it."

"You are so selfless," Hunith murmured, tugging him into her arms. "That is a gift. Keep hold of it."

"I will Mother," the boy vowed, allowing his mother to take his hand and lead him back to the house.

Once inside, Hunith deposited Merlin back in front of fire while she began ration their sack of grain. As she set about determining how many meals she could make out of it, her eyes flittered to the stack of firewood that lay by the back door. It was dismally small and would not last them through the afternoon, let alone the night. She sighed, knowing she would have to make one more trip today.

As Hunith returned to her food preparations, Merlin glanced between her and the firewood. He had seen the troubled look and he knew why it was there. One did not need to be a genius to know that their fire would soon run out of fuel. Or, at least, _physical_ fuel.

Sneaking a furtive look over his shoulder and seeing his mother immersed in her work, the eight-year-old released his magic, using it to make the fire burn on its own. Throughout the ever so long afternoon, Merlin would keep a watch on the fire, keeping it burning with magic whenever it threatened to die. But with less fuel meant more requirement for magic and its use was starting to drain him. Merlin fought back the exhaustion though, forcing himself to persevere, to do what needed to be done.

It was only when the sun proceeded to sink that Hunith suddenly remembered the firewood that needed re-stocking. She had not paid it any heed all day, simply telling herself that when the fire died she would replace it. But surely it _must_ have run out by now.

Pushing herself out of her chair, Hunith smothered a gasp as she saw Merlin staring intently at the fire, hands outstretched as though warming them, but eyes as brilliant as the finest gold. Before she could scold him, Merlin's body took that opportunity to finally given in, eyes fading to their natural bright blue as they rolled back into his skull.

" _Merlin!"_

The cry did not pierce his subconscious however and Merlin slumped to the ground, unconscious. With trembling hands Hunith gathered him into her arms, holding him fiercely.

"Oh Merlin," she sobbed, rocking him gently. "You stubborn, selfless child. Why have you done this?" She smiled down at him sadly. "Why do you have such a big heart?"

Gathering him up in her arms, Hunith carried the boy to her bed, laying him down before settling down beside him, holding him to her chest to stop him from becoming so very cold. The blanket she pulled over them could not possibly hope to keep them warm, but hopefully it would be enough to keep them _alive_.

Kissing Merlin's cold forehead, Hunith could only hope and pray. Pray that he would survive.

Pray that he would _live_.

-)-(-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: we all know that Merlin survives but Hunith didn't know that at that point. XD Arthur's a little more on the ball now and he's starting to become his own person. Merlin's just being Merlin really. :)


	6. Age 10: Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "As iron sharpens iron, so a friend sharpens a friend." ~ Proverbs 27

There was an air of arrogance in Arthur's stride as he made his way to the council chambers. No one knew when it had first started, but the air was now impossible to miss. Despite being but ten years of age, Arthur had a way of seemingly looking down on everyone, even those that in reality towered over him. He held himself with pride and confidence, eyes forever searching for nothing but the best.

A curt nod was given as he was granted access to the chambers. Long gone were the naïve whispers of thanks. He understood the concept of duties now and since his father never thanked him for completely _his_ , he was hardly about to thank others for completing _theirs_.

"Ah, Arthur," Uther called when he saw him, stretching out an arm to invite his son over. "This meeting is over," he ordered dismissively to those around him.

As the council filed out, Arthur gave the barest bow of his head, rather inclined to not bother looking at them at all. Though he could not see it, there was a hint of pride hidden in Uther's face. Yes, this was more the son he wanted; one who understood his place and did not attempt to stoop to the level of the commoners.

"I understand you called me here Father," Arthur stated, folding his arms across his chest.

"Yes, I did." He moved to this throne, a hand coming to rest on the high back. "As you are undoubtedly aware, we are expecting guests at Camelot. Nobles from the out-lying regions are coming to discuss politics."

Arthur frowned. "I don't see how this could concern me."

"Some will be bringing their sons. It is your job to host them."

Arthur's face contorted into an unimpressed expression, nose crinkling in distaste. " _Father_."

Uther's expression held no nonsense. "You will not dishonour me here Arthur. I expect you to be on your best behaviour. These children _will_ like you, do I make myself clear?"

The young prince huffed. "Suppose I don't like them?"

A warning finger was suddenly placed in front of his face. "Then you'd best find it in yourself _to_ like them."

Recognising that as the end of their conversation, Arthur promptly turned on his heel. He was thoroughly displeased with the idea of having to share _his_ palace. Still, he could hope for at least _one_ tolerable child that did not drive him completely mad.

Much to Arthur's surprise however, he found the entire ordeal rather enjoyable. The nobles were set to stay for near a fortnight and that was enough time for Arthur to make the most of his status. After all, he was the Prince of Camelot. Who did _not_ want to be his 'friend'? On the first day he was introduced to all of the nobles' children. By the end of the third day, a good portion of them had been ostracised. He did not deem their company suitable enough and so, they were 'banished' from his sight.

He was Prince Arthur and a certain amount of praise and compliments were required to be allowed to stay in his presence. Those that displeased him were sent away but Arthur was quick to learn that often they would come back the next day, apologising profusely for whatever it was they had done and begging to be given the opportunity to join him once more.

There was no doubt in Arthur's mind that his reputation kept them coming back. And he was never one to turn down praise.

This could not have been more obvious than in the case of Dunstan. The boy was twelve but gangly for his age. Strength was not his strong point and Arthur had been unimpressed with him from the start. For several days after Arthur had grown tired of him Dunstan did not reappear and, by the time he did, Arthur had narrowed his group of followers down to but three; Leofwin, Caelin, and Edmund.

"Sire!"

The call had rung out across the training fields. Arthur returned his sword to the rack before answering the summon, frowning at the boy who had spoken.

"Didn't I tell you that only those who could _wield_ swords were permitted here?" he asked condescendingly, a snigger coming from the three boys gathered around him.

"I…" Dunstan took a moment to compose himself, squaring his shoulders. "I am capable of wielding a sword."

Arthur chose not to comment on that. He had seen Dunstan spar with some of the other boys and he was entirely confident he had seen _hedgehogs_ inflict more damage. The boy was properly useless.

"Allow me to prove myself again my Lord," Dunstan hurriedly stammered, fearing he was to be rejected once more. "It would be an honour to practice with one as talented as yourself Sire," he tacked on for good measure.

Arthur couldn't stop a surprised grin from spreading across his face. "Very well," he agreed, grabbing his sword. "Think fast!"

The old trick his father had taught him worked painfully well. Dunstan did not even have time to tighten his grip on his own sword before Arthur's was crashing into it, sending the gleaming weapon flying away. The boy looked up at him in terror and for a moment Arthur felt guilt claw at his throat.

Then he heard the laughter of his newfound friends and said guilt was chased away.

"Come back when you manage to even _hold_ a sword!" he called mockingly as he strode back to the other children.

"Very good Sire," Caelin praised, sending him a wolfish smile.

"Did you see the look on his face?" Edmund jeered, punching Leofwin in the arm jestfully. "He looked like a cod what's been pulled out of the water." Edmund then proceeded to do an impression of a gaping fish.

Arthur snorted in amusement, clapping the boy on the shoulder. "Come now Edmund, we must not be entirely cruel. He is the son of a noble too," he reminded seriously.

"Good thing too," Leofwin crowed. "If he weren't, he'd surely be dead by now. No doubts it's his guards that keep him alive."

As Edmund and Caelin erupted into mean chuckles, Arthur did his best to smother a laugh of his own. "That was uncalled for."

"You do agree though, don't you Sire?" Caelin enticed, leaning forward conspiratorially.

Arthur bowed his head ever so slightly. "I will admit his skills are not up to those of Camelot's."

"But that is extremely hard," the other boy pointed out coyly. "It is perhaps also why only _you_ are so talented."

The stroke to Arthur's ego did the prince wonders and, when Caelin's statement was hurriedly backed by both Edmund and Leofwin, Arthur decided that if this was what friends were like then perhaps they were truly not so bad after all.

However, there was but one important thing Arthur was blind to:

His assumed friends were only following their parents' orders. And one day, their supposed 'loyalty' would reap them great rewards. Until that day, they merely had to put up with the insufferable prince. It was not _so_ bad they supposed.

-)-(-

"Oi Merlin!"

Merlin looked up quizzically from where he and Will were playing. His expression only became more pronounced when he saw Brayden coming towards him, Rowan on his heels. He and Brayden were not what one would call friends. To be addressed by him so unexpectedly…Merlin's nose screwed up with unease. He didn't like this, not at all.

But remembering his mother's words, the boy pasted a smile on his face. "Yes Brayden?" he asked politely. "Can I help you with something?"

"No," the boy drawled, "Just wanted to talk to you."

" _Why_?"

The painfully suspicious question came from Will, the freckly boy knowing when Brayden was up to no good – which tended to be most of the time.

Brayden glowered at him. "Why don't you stay out of this Will? I'm here to speak with Merlin, not with you."

"If you've got a bone to pick with him, then y-"

"Will," Merlin cut in gently, shaking his head ever so slightly at his friend. "It's alright. I'm willing to listen to whatever it is Brayden has to say."

Will stood still for a moment before eventually sighing in defeat, knowing Merlin would not back down. His friend could be painfully stubborn when he wanted to be. Seeing that he had gotten his way, Merlin gave Will a grateful smile. Brayden's scoff brought them back to the present, causing both boys to give him a confused look.

"You gonna let a _bastard_ order you around, are you Will?"

Everything froze.

There was a change in the atmosphere and for some reason it made Merlin want to cower. He didn't know what the word meant, but it had him backing away from Brayden nonetheless, form quivering slightly. Will's jaw had set but there was an added nervousness to his posture now.

"Wha-…What's a bastard?" Merlin asked tentatively.

" _Don't_ ," Will warned, holding up a hand. "Don't ask."

Merlin glanced between all those present, noticing the slightly uncomfortable shifting Rowan kept making and Will's borderline panic. "Why not?" he demanded. "It's obvious _you_ know. And if you know, why can't I?"

" _Because it's not nice!"_

The young warlock stumbled away from Will in shock, having never heard his friend yell at him before. He very quickly decided he didn't want to know anymore but since he had asked, Brayden was not to be deterred. Haughtily, the boy stepped forward, a finger pointing accusingly at Merlin.

"A bastard is a child like you," he explained. "A boy with no real father. Your mother wasn't married when she had you. You're a bastard. And bastards are sin. That's why _my_ father says." Brayden eyed Merlin up coldly. "I have a father, unlike _you_ -."

His mouth opened to make another no doubt hurtful remark but was cut off when a fist suddenly slammed in his face. As the burly youth stumbled back, Rowan stepped forward to avenge him. Will's burning glare had him backing down though, hands wringing together behind his back sheepishly.

"Don't you ever go talking about my friend like that ever again," Will threatened. "I'll make you regret it, you hear me?"

Waiting for a nod, Will kicked dirt at Brayden for good measure before wrapping a hand around Merlin's arm, pulling the boy after him. He led a stumbling Merlin through the woods, finally coming to a halt in a tiny glade that they had long since claimed as theirs. The moment he was released, Merlin crumpled to the ground, tears rolling down his face.

" _I knew it!"_ he sobbed. "I knew there was something wrong with me. I _knew_ there was a reason I was like this!"

"Merlin, no!" Will exclaimed, not understanding that Merlin was referring to his magic, his sin, his _curse_. He wrapped his arms around his shaking friend. "I don't care what no Brayden says! You're my friend, alright? You're not what he says you're are. You're Merlin."

Merlin shook his head weakly, hands coming to grip Will's arm, desperately seeking comfort. "I'm evil," he whimpered.

" _No!_ " The sharp yell startled him but Will was not put off. "You're my best friend Merlin and I know you. You're an idiot sometimes-" A cheeky grin. "-but you're not evil. You're my _friend_."

"How…," Merlin blustered, wiping his tears with a grubby hand, effectively smearing his face with mud. "Why are still standing by me? You know what I am. Why don't you hate me?"

Will's face turned surprisingly solemn for a ten year old. "Because I'm your friend…And a friend is loyal…No matter what."

Merlin gave a weak smile back. Oh if only that were true.

-)-(-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: for some reason, this didn't turn out very long. Oh well, it still got my meaning across. ;) Arthur's got "friends" who teach him how to be a prat and Merlin has someone who will stand by him.


	7. Age 11: Amusement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The only way to amuse some people is to slip and fall on an icy pavement." ~ Edgar Watson Howe

If his self-control was not so well developed, Arthur did not doubt that he would be very ashamed with himself. He was so jittering with excitement that he was, all in all, impressed that said jittering was not visible on the outside. Instead, he kept the adrenalin locked within himself, wrestling it down under the surface and containing it with pure willpower.

There was _no_ doubt in his mind that if he behaved _any_ differently, his father would call off the hunt. And, out of spite, likely refuse to take them out again.

Pausing a moment to take a deep breath and find his calm centre, Arthur readjusted the crossbow on his shoulder before jogging after his father near soundlessly. The king halted ever so slightly as Arthur rejoined him, sending his son a nod before resuming his trek.

"Now Arthur," he called back in a hushed voice. "What is it most important to remember on a hunt?"

"That any noise created will scare away the prey," Arthur replied instantly, his father having drilled him many times before agreeing to even the _idea_ of them hunting together.

"That is correct," Uther nodded, ducking under a branch and beckoning for his son to join him. "What else must we remember?"

"Always shoot to kill. A wounded animal may turn savage and act unpredictably."

Again, a nod.

A _crack!_ to their left caught both royals' attention, the two Pendragons freezing in synchronisation before turning their heads carefully, trying to glimpse the cause of the sound. With great surprise, Arthur realised it was a doe and her fawn that had been foolish enough to step into their sight.

Catching movement out of his peripheral vision, Arthur flicked his eyes back and saw his father retrieving his crossbow from over his shoulder with meticulous patience. Feeling the eyes on him, Uther's own gaze dropped to his son and, when he saw the question those azure orbs were asking him, he gave a slight nod.

Employing the same amount of caution and slowness that his father was, Arthur pulled his crossbow up from where it was hanging limply in his grasp. Lining the weapon up with his shoulder and drawing the bolt back, the prince did not fire, waiting for instructions he knew would be given. After all, he had never done this before. Everything was new to him. He could only hope, that with the amount of exhilaration currently running through his veins, he would be able to aim straight.

A firm hand on his shoulder startled him and said hand tightened its grip, ordering him to listen most attentively. "You will aim for the fawn. Aim for the chest and _do not miss_."

Arthur swallowed nervously before nodding resolutely, readjusting his aim.

"On my count. One."

His young fingers locked into place, keeping his crossbow completely level.

"Two."

He looked through the carved wooden scope, ensuring his aim was precise one last time.

" _Three._ "

Arthur released the bolt at the same time Uther did, the king making an impressed grunt when his son's aim proved to be true. With cries of pain and surprise, the two deer fell to the ground. Glancing down, Uther was rewarded with a smug grin, Arthur's eyes _dancing_ with elation.

Being waved forward with a hand, Arthur wore an exhilarated smile as he bounded through the woods, for once confident he would not be reprimanded for his actions. Reaching the creature's side, there was not a single shred of remorse present as Arthur eyed the dead beast. This was something _he_ had done, something _he_ had killed. The fact that it had died to bring him glory was lost on the boy and Arthur's only thoughts were of the overwhelming reception he would receive back in the palace and the marvellous accounts his father would give.

After removing the bolts from the deer, the animal's legs were bound together and then slung over their shoulders as father and son made for Camelot. The matching deer brought every amount the praise Arthur had been predicated and he could feel the smile tugging at his lips, the swell in his chest as he was clapped on the back by his father.

Confident that his day could not, in any way, become any better, he was pleasantly surprised when he found his friends gathered at the training grounds, swords glinting in the sun as they ran through their drills. Impatiently beckoning for a sword even as he joined them, Arthur's grin was like a flash of sunlight when he reached their sides.

"I heard about your hunt," Caelin announced, neglecting his drills to give the prince his full attention. "Congratulations Sire!"

Arthur gave an indifferent shrug. "I assure you, it was nothing."

"Hardly Sire!" Edmund protested. "A deer on your first hunt! I would've been satisfied with a pheasant or too."

Muttered agreements came his way and Arthur drank them all in eagerly, flipping his hair out of his eyes. Holding up a hand to stem their praise, Arthur had every intention of resuming their practice when Leofwin's voice called out to him.

"Sire," he called, in that voice everyone associated with trouble, but also with great amusement. "Perhaps you could give us a demonstration of how exactly you felled the deer?" With a sweeping hand, he gestured to a servant that was in the process of returning several shields to the rack.

Immediately seeing where this was going, there was a moment's hesitation before Arthur nodded, abandoning his sword and reaching for the crossbow located on a nearby table. Snickers of approval came from his followers and Arthur shot them a not wholly earnest smirk.

"You there!" he bellowed across the field.

The servant in question straightened instantly, eyes wide as they turned to face the prince. Arthur recognised him. He did not know the man's name, but he was new and foolish, a bit of a bumbling oaf.

He also made _outstanding_ target practice.

"Pick up one of those shields," Arthur ordered, waiting for the command to be fulfilled before continuing. "Now go and stand down by that tree… _Faster!_ That's better…Now hold it above your head."

The servant suddenly paled as he realised Arthur's intent, the young prince preparing his weapon for firing. Glancing up as the notched the string, Arthur rolled his eyes.

"For heaven's sake, I'm not going to hit you," he drawled, earning more laughs.

As the man shifted nervously from foot to foot, shield held dutifully up as high as he could, Arthur smiled. Now _this_ was _fun_.

-)-(-

"Come _on_ Merlin!"

"I'm comi-… _Oof!_ "

The sound of hearty laughter met Merlin's ears as he lay face down in the dirt, twisting his head enough so that he might glare at the rabbit hole he had just tripped over. Crunching sounds came from in front of him and when he turned around, he found a hand in his face.

"You idiot," Will told him, still giggling somewhat. "You're always tripping over nothing."

Merlin pouted, taking the offered hand and being pulled to his feet. "You think I don't know that? I am telling you, the ground jumps up to get me!"

Will stared at him incredulously until Merlin let a grin break-through his mock-serious exterior. Ruffling his hair teasingly, Will nudged him forward with a shoulder. Not even sparing his hair a thought, Merlin bounded after his friend, the two of them making the most of the spare time they managed to find in the summer afternoons. They ran through fields – accidentally ruining some Old Man Simmons vegetables in the process – they splashed in the river, sticks turned into swords and shadows blended into bandits. There was little to the imagination these boys had _not_ faced; in their minds, anyway.

Eventually, breathlessly from running so endlessly, the pair flopped down on a grassy knoll. Odd chuckles managed to escape their lips when breath would allow and they wiped the sweat from their brow without remorse. Sending Will a crooked grin, Merlin leant back, desperately trying to catch his breath. It was the slightest of rustling sounds that snagged his attention.

"Will, look!"

Will did indeed look, eyes widening at the sight of the baby hare that was quaking in the grass near them. Without hesitation, the boy clambered over his skinnier friend – something that earned him an indignant ' _hey!_ '.

Seeing his hands reaching forward, Merlin quickly snapped, "Don't kill it!"

Will shot him a hurt look. "I'm not going to kill it! We're not barbarians Merlin. We don't kill things for fun."

Thoroughly ashamed, Merlin ducked his head away as red crept up his neck. Feeling a little less put out now due to his friend's reaction, Will cupped his hands and scooped the leveret up, shushing softly in its ear.

"Should you pick it up?" Merlin asked, intrigue and concern warring away within. "Won't its mother come looking for it?"

Will did a cursory sweep of the area. "I don't think its mother's out here Merlin…I think it's alone."

The young Merlin's blue eyes widened. "You're going to keep it?"

His friend flushed. "I never said that, but come on. I'll ask my mother if that would be alright."

Passing the leveret to Merlin, who, despite his clumsiness, was more gentle and tender, Will led them back to Ealdor. While initially displeased, his mother had come around upon hearing that they had not _taken_ the poor animal from its home. She reluctantly agreed and Merlin found he was at Will's house more often than his own the next few days. Everyday they would find something new and exciting to do – be it sneakily nicking some of Simmons' cabbages, or taking the tiny hare to a grass clearing to play, or making mazes for it out of wooden blocks and ends.

The death of the leveret eight days later shattered both boys' hearts. Hunith telling Merlin that it most likely had an illness from the start, hence why it had been abandoned by its kin, did not make him feel any better. He had, however, repeated her words to Will, but Will had found them equally inconsoling.

Together they dug the unfortunate creature a grave, burying it in the afternoon sun, Merlin being allocated the task of praying for the hare. He did so with utmost sincerity and sadness, patting the grave reverently when done. Will then forced into the ground the wooden cross he had carved. They stood there in silence for several minutes until they felt the due amount of respect had been paid, to which they then left.

Hiking back up the hill that led them to Ealdor, Merlin felt his spirits plummet when they had walked near ten minutes and Will had not given him one smile. In truth, he had not even been sent a jokingly teasing remark, or a playful shove. No, his friend was too miserable to jest.

Looking around furtively, Merlin smothered a grin when he noticed a tree root that was sticking up ever so slightly. Timing himself perfectly, the eleven-year-old allowed his foot to become snagged and plummeted forward, groaning when he collided with the ground. There was beat in which he thoughts his efforts might have been wasted but then he heard it: unmistakable laughter.

Sending his friend a scowl that was wholly faked, Merlin was inwardly beaming when he saw the smile Will had adopted. Being pulled to his feet as always, he was clapped on the shoulder as Will shook his head in amazed disbelief.

"Honestly Merlin," his friend stated, snorting in amusement. "You are…"

As their light-hearted banter continued, Merlin could not help but feel accomplished. His friend was laughing and having _fun_ again. And, if everyone else was happy, Merlin was happy.

-)-(-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: so this didn't really turn out how I wanted. XD Basically, Arthur has fun killing things and mocking others while Merlin prefers to simply play with Will and please others. I did feel bad for the fawn Arthur killed (hey, I'm like three points shy of a vegetarian), which is why I had Will tell Merlin they weren't barbarians. ;)


	8. Age 12: Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You gain strength, courage, and confidence in every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face." ~ Eleanor Roosevelt

The horses breathed out clouds of steam as they trotted through the crisp morning air. Arthur's own breath obscured his vision periodically and he was infinitely thankful that his gloves were thick enough to keep the biting cold out. Numb fingers were certainly not something he needed at present. He would much rather be able to control his horse's reins properly, thank you very much.

A stick breaking somewhere to his right caused Arthur to look in that direction, but, try as he might, he was unable to distinguish any malicious figures hidden in the trees. He supposed he must have been letting his father's tales consume his mind. To leap at every shadow and cringe at every sound was nonsense. Besides, he was riding with his father, the _king_ , and a party of knights. No one would dare attack such a formation.

"Arthur!"

The call had him snapping his head up and the boy quickly urged his mount forward, easing the pressure when he was alongside his father. "Yes Sire?"

Uther gave him a look that was torn between bemused and frustrated. "Have I scared you of these woods with my stories?"

Arthur flushed brightly but hid it as best he could. "Of course not!" he protested furiously.

A hand grabbed his shoulder, to the knights looking like a clap on the back but Arthur nearly winced at the pressure being used. "Then cease with your frightened behaviour. It is both unfounded and unnecessary," Uther's voice dropped even lower as his head came to rest right beside Arthur's ear. "You will not embarrass me further, am I understood?"

The young prince nodded hastily, wiping all traces of fear from his face and falling back to his original position within their ranks. No knights spared a glance in his direction, save one, a newer, younger one who had yet to learn that how Uther treated his son was definitely _not_ their concern; not if they valued their rank, that is.

Their ride continued on in silence for several more leagues. As ordered, Arthur had squashed his fear, finding the easiest way to do this to be to stare at the pummel of his saddle sullenly. His ears still burnt with the shame of being reprimanded and the pride he had so proudly worn upon being allowed to accompany them on the patrol had long since vanished.

It was only ironic then that Arthur's watchful gaze had been the one thing keeping a party of lurking bandits away. Once his piercing eyes, eyes that noticed every shift in leaf or shadow, were removed and showed no sign of returning, the bandits pounced.

" _Look out!"_

The startled shout came out of nowhere, Sir Matteus sighting the charging attackers first. He was then felled by an arrow, his warning being his final act of service. Arthur recoiled in horror as the knight toppled from his mount, sprawling onto the ground. Already shocked, his inexperienced senses were promptly overwhelmed as swords glinted as they were removed their sheaths, shouts of orders mingled with the frightened whinnies of horses, and movement flashed this way and that across his vision. And then there was blood, blood, dirt, and sound…deafening sound.

A hand grasped his arm and Arthur took advantage of the contact, using it to ground himself. It would most likely have worked, had he not suddenly found himself looking into the eyes of someone he did not know as opposed to one of Camelot's knights. With a startled cry he was ripped to the ground, legs buckling as they collided with the ground unexpectedly.

" _No!_ Let me go!"

Arthur's voice was layered with authority but when the bandit's sword was placed across his neck, he was painfully shown where the power truly lay. That did not prevent him from struggling; only a blow to the head did that, said blow sending him reeling but leaving him conscious.

"Steady my prince," a mocking voice hissed in his ear. "You wouldn't want any…accidents happening."

Trying to control his racing heart, the boy repeated, though far less stably, "Let me go!"

"So sorry sir, but I-"

"Get _off_ me! _I order you!_ " It was hard to tell in his last yell if he had been screaming or sobbing, but it was mortifyingly accompanied by the first prickling in his eyes as fear started to claw at him.

The yell did, however, achieve another outcome. " _ **Arthur!**_ "

The roar from Uther had all gathered freezing, cowed by the ferocity in his tone. His son's gaze locked straight onto him, his face smeared with dirt but pale with terror. This was a situation he had never been in before. Never had someone gotten so close to the prince. Never had his life been at stake.

Eyes flashing murderously, Uther stormed over to them, pointing his sword at the man whose arm was still wrapped around his son's delicate throat. "Release him."

"And what if I don't?" Came the predictable response, a cocky grin being sent his way.

"Arthur, duck!"

The order came so quickly that the bandit did not have time to comprehend it. But Arthur had been trained, Arthur knew his father, and he knew, above else, that orders _must_ be obeyed. He had ducked and shied simultaneously, only to freeze seconds later as a warm, sticky substance splattered him. Arthur shuddered as his now blood-plastered hair stuck to his face, eyes numbly watching rivulets of the red liquid run down his clothes, shivering as its warmth became noticeable on his skin.

His face was ashen with horror when Uther lifted it with a finger. He took one deep look into those inexplicably wide blue eyes and shook his head. Even as Arthur made to step into his father's embrace, Uther pushed him away, gesturing for whichever knight was closest to come and deal with the child.

"You are Prince of Camelot Arthur," Uther told him coldly as he set about surveying the battle sight. "This will not be the last time you are so unexpectedly attacked. Learn from it and be ready next time. You cannot _rely_ upon me to save you."

As he turned away, Arthur felt the tears that had been forming in his eyes threaten to spill over. Before they could though, a gentle hand – a hand that had been waiting for Uther's back to turn – softly brushed his congealed hair off his face. A clean sleeve was wiping his face as best as possible, a reassuring and steady hand on his shoulder keeping him steady.

"Are you hurt Sire?"

The voice ghosted passed his ear and caused Arthur to start in alarm, taking several quick breaths to calm himself down. Finally, his heart rate had slowed and he gave the knight behind him a weak smile.

"No, Sir Leon, I am not."

-)-(-

How long he had been standing outside his father's door, Arthur could not say. It had taken him six tries to get to the door alone, his courage failing and having him scurrying away many a time. And yet now, even after all that effort to get so close, Arthur could not muster up that final amount that would enable him to knock on the door. Instead he merely stood outside it uncertainly, eyes hiding behind his blond hair.

What did he want to say? Did he want to say that he was sorry for his behaviour during the patrol? That he would be better prepared next time and would not hesitate to draw his sword? Perhaps he should say that he desired more training to sharpen his reactions so such instances could not happen again. Or did he have a duty to thank his father for saving his life?

Scowling, Arthur realised he did not know _what_ he wanted to say. But that may have been because he knew, in truth, that he did not want to _say_ anything. Indeed, all he truly wanted was an arm around his shoulder to tell him that he was safe now, that all was as it should be once more.

A noise inside the chambers had Arthur suddenly fearing that his father would open the door and see him there. Without thought he fled, sprinting through the palace corridors until he reached the safety of his own chambers. A concerned guard received a dark glare for his troubles and the prince slammed his door shut before any questions could be asked. Completely bypassing his bed, Arthur picked his way to a corner of the room that was hidden from the door and yet bathed in light from the window. Curling into said corner, Arthur let his exhausted as sink shut as rays from the moon blanketed him. At least the _moon_ had no qualms about embracing him.

-)-(- -)-(-

The cold was so fierce that Merlin was highly confident that his boots would not keep his feet safe for long. He had only been outside the better part of an hour and he could already feel the snow leaking into his boots and turning them sodden, a sensation that was undeniably unpleasant. A younger child in the village had died not two days earlier after their feet had turned black and rotten from overexposure to cold. Merlin was in no hurry to be in a similar situation. He was quite determined to return indoors as hastily as time would allow.

"Will!" he called somewhat irritably. "Come on Will, there's nothing out here. I want to go home."

His friend shot a look over his shoulder as he continued to climb up the densely foliaged incline, seemingly oblivious to the freezing cold. "I'm telling you, there was a cow up here this morning. I say it's wandered from somewhere else, you know?"

"And so what if it has?" Merlin demanded a tad edgily. "Are you going to bring it back to Ealdor single-handedly? What is that going to achieve?"

Will glared at him. "It's food now, isn't it?"

"But you saw it this morning!" Merlin blustered. "It could be miles away by now. You don't even know if it's still here. I say we turn around! We could look tomorrow."

For the first time, Will seemed to hear the underlying anger in Merlin's tone. He pulled up to a halt and turned to face him head on. Merlin had his hands tucked into his armpits and his slim form was racking with cold. His normally compassionate blue eyes were sparking in agitation. It was painfully clear that he did not want to be here.

And so, Will smirked, resuming his crashing through the woods. "I'm sure we'll find it soon. Let's go Merlin!"

Merlin gaped at him incredulously. "We're going to die Will! Mother told me not to stay out too long and it's already past noon. Can we not just _turn back_?"

"What's the matter Merlin? _Scared?_ "

His friend laughed a tad more mockingly than normal as he started navigating the down slope of the hill. His laugh was cut off however as he suddenly tripped over a fallen branch that he swore had not been there when he had begun his descent. The boy tumbled head first down the hill, going horrifyingly still when his head smacked into a rock that was poking up out of the snow.

Silence filled the area and Merlin felt colder than he had ever felt before. Whatever traces of magic had been left running through his system promptly vanished as fear consumed him.

He had done this. He had nearly killed his best friend. _He_ had done this.

And then, Merlin was running. Running far, far away.

Anything to get away.

-)-(-

Hunith ducked into her home, eyes immediately going to the corner furthest from the door. She found her son exactly where she had left him, curled in a ball against the wall. Hours earlier he had come bursting in, Will suspiciously missing, and when he had been too choked to form words, Hunith had run to Matthew, already guessing the worst. A search had been instigated immediately and they had found Will, quite some way from Ealdor, unconscious in the snow. The boy had been raced back to the village, and then, much to everyone's relief, it had become apparent that he would be fine, only a little sore when he awoke.

Which left Hunith with the most pressing question of all. Why had Merlin run? Run to _hide_ and not run for help?

Setting her shawl down, Hunith came to crouch down beside the boy, wrapping an arm around his shaking shoulders. Before she could even open her mouth, she was startled to find her son wrench himself out of her grip. She tried to glimpse his features but Merlin adeptly dodged her. There was no denying the tears that were still sliding down his face however and every hair on his body seemed to be standing on end.

"Merlin," she whispered, reaching a hand out to stroke his hair tenderly, clucking her tongue warningly when he made to pull away once more. "You can tell me, my boy. You can tell me what happened. It cannot be so bad."

Merlin shook his head stubbornly, his young frame shaking with terror. "I can't," he gasped. "I _can't_."

"Yes you can son," came the gentle reassurance. "There is nothing you cannot tell me."

"…I'm scared," Merlin finally confessed, hands shaking as they came up to hide his face. "I'm scared Mother, I'm so scared."

Hunith's face creased in confusion. "What has scared you such?"

"I did." Merlin's eyes were glistening with fresh tears when he finally turned to face her. The woman had to withhold a gasp when she saw the unbridled fear shining in those usually dancing blue orbs. "I'm a monster," he revealed, shaking because of the severity of his own confession. "I did this…I did this to Will."

There was no stopping the gasp this time. " _Merlin!_ "

" _I'm sorry!"_ Merlin leapt to his feet, hands coming to fist in his hair wildly. "It was an accident! I did not mean for it to go this far! I just wanted Will to stop so we could go home. I didn't want him to get cold and die like Rosina did! _I just wanted him to stop!"_ The boy slumped to the ground, breath coming in gasps as emotions raged through him. "I just wanted to go home," he whimpered, sadly, honestly.

For once, Hunith was at a loss as to what to say. Her son was always so pure and kind-hearted. He had never once abused his powers before. To see him suddenly do it now…She was rendered speechless. Her words were not coming to her as easily as they always did. What did a mother say when her son had recklessly nearly cost the life of his best friend? Even though his actions _had_ been the result of an accident, she could not allow such an accident to happen again.

"Mother…I truly am a monster," Merlin's voice was hoarse, scratched raw from crying. "If this is what I'm capable of doing to Will…How will I ever know when to stop?" He sounded so lost, so despairing.

Hunith had immediately adopted a frown though. She knew what her son was, and a monster was most surely _not_ it. "Merlin…"

" _No."_ Knowing what was coming, what she would undoubtedly say, his wavering tone had taken a sudden turn more resolved. "I know what I must do. I know what I must do so I will never be this scared again. So that I cannot scare anyone else, _especially_ Will…and…" Eyes overwhelming with love turned to her. "And you, Mother. I cannot risk anything happening to you."

"Merlin, my child, what are you going to do?" Hunith could not fully disguise the worry in her voice.

Her boy's next words held more strength in them than anything she had ever heard. "I must never use magic again…Even if it kills me."

-)-(- -)-(-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: um, collective 'aww' for Arthur please? Poor kid, I put him through a lot. :P And yes, Sir Leon has entered the frame. I love him too much to leave him out. :) Of course we all know Merlin will use his powers again, but spur of the moment promise, you know how they go.


	9. Age 14: Infatuation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Love distils desire upon the eyes; love brings bewitching grace into the heart." - Euripides

"She is beautiful, even I'll admit it."

Arthur leapt away from the ramparts as if scalded, furiously trying to beat down the blush that was forming across his face. "I don't know what you mean, _Morgana_."

The girl that had since become the closest thing he had to a sister simply smirked at him. "Don't bother denying it Arthur. It's quite obvious," she commented proudly, peering out over the top of the castle wall. "We are of course talking about Lady Payton, are we not?"

Absolutely determined not to blush once more, Arthur casually joined Morgana in gazing down into the palace's courtyard. "So what of her?" he asked indifferently. "I agree she is definitely…beautiful, b-"

"Well go on then," Morgana cut in. "Go and tell her that."

Arthur screwed his face up in disgust. "Tell her that I may have feelings for her? You've got to be kidding me."

That did not, however, stop him from leaning further over the battlements, trying to catch a glimpse of the young lady again. It was by chance that Payton took that moment to step out of her sister's shadow, laughing gaily, her dark brown hair shining in the sunlight. Indeed, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever beheld.

Sensing Morgana begin to speak once more, Arthur was in the process of raising a hand to stop her when something more pressing caught his attention. For there, now crossing the courtyard and blatantly _conversing_ with Payton was Edmund. Without a second's thought Arthur tore from his post, leaving a giggling Morgana behind him. Within minutes the prince was sweeping down the stairs, his head held regally and his shoulders straight. He had no qualms in cutting into the polite talk that was going on, his ego assuring him it was fine.

"Lady Payton," he greeted smoothly, taking one of her pale hands in his and pressing it to his lips suavely.

"Prince Arthur," she returned, curtseying, the faintest dusting on pink forming on her cheeks.

"I take it you are not otherwise engaged at present?" The question was oh so pointedly aimed at Edmund, the other boy huffing in displeasure.

Payton paid him no mind though, her bright hazel eyes locked on Arthur's already handsome face. "I am not and if I were, I would surely make other arrangements."

Arthur's face took on a devilish grin. "Then may I have the privilege of escorting m'lady through the gardens. They are incredibly…" his lip curled in barely disguised revulsion "… _flowery_ …at present."

His offer did grant him the response he desired though and Payton's arm slipped through his offered elbow. Giving a nod to her older sister and mother, Arthur disappeared from the courtyard. His last gesture was to shoot a warning scowl in Edmund's direction. No one touched _his_ beloved.

Some hours later, Arthur would admit that his afternoon had been well spent. Payton had been every bit the pleasurable company he had envisioned and was certainly _not_ against meeting with him again. In fact, the fourteen-year-old found that the knowing looks from the guards did not even faze him so much, although he did, for good measure and reputation sake alone, send them looks that determinedly told them to mind their own business and return their attention to where it should be.

The prince held a certain self-satisfied air in his swagger as he entered the dining hall, taking his usual seat, hastily wiping the smile from his features before his father noticed. Unfortunately, he was not fast enough to hide his grin from Morgana, the teasing girl's eyes sparkling knowingly.

"I take it your afternoon was productive then Arthur," she said breezily as a servant stepped forward to fill her goblet.

It took all of Arthur's self control to not choke on his wine nor go blisteringly red. "No more productive than yours, I assure you," he shot back, added a pointed undertone that was purposefully ignored.

"Oh I'm sure _nothing_ I could have done would have been more enjoyable," Morgana smirked.

"Then you must have a very boring life _Mor_ gana."

"What is going on here?" Uther demanded exasperatedly, tiring of the ridiculous banter. His gaze turned to his son. "What have you done Arthur?"

"I have done nothing!" Arthur spluttered, looking thoroughly offended.

"Well, perhaps not yet."

"Morgana!"

"Arthur!"

The prince had the sense to remain stubbornly silent, folding his arms tightly across his chest and turning his head so he would not have to look at Morgana. There was a moment of satisfaction and pride before guilt prevailed and Morgana was leaning across the table, a hand extended.

"I'm sorry, I may have overstepped what I had the right to say. Forgive me?"

Arthur sighed heavily, shoulders deflating before he reached out and took Morgana's hand in his own, giving it the barest of squeezes and then dropping it so he could return to his dinner. "You are forgiven. But I haven't forgotten this," he added on smugly, letting her know she would get her just deserts one day.

"Again I will ask, what is this about?" Uther cut in, tone far more stern this time.

Seeing Arthur's mouth clamp shut, Morgana was quick to reply with, "Arthur was courting a young lady today."

" _Morgana!"_

To see his son go such an impressive shade of red, Uther could not help but chuckle. "And who, pray, has become the object of these advances?"

If possible, Arthur's blush became even more prominent. Hearing a snigger from Morgana, Arthur squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and met his father's gaze head on. "The Lady Payton, daughter of Lord Ashton. She and her family were here this morning."

In a reaction he was dreading, Uther's face formed into a frown. "Lady Payton?" he repeated incredulously. _"_ _Arthur_ _…"_

The young man's face took on a severe frown of its own. "I take it you have some objections then Father?"

"Arthur, she is nobody," Uther pointed out as though it were blatantly obvious. "Her father may be a lord but barely so. And Payton is the youngest of _all_ his children. If your advances were to become more serious, you would never be allowed to marry her."

Arthur could not help but gape. "Why on earth not?"

"Because your marriage to her would not benefit this kingdom," came the impatient answer. "You are my only heir Arthur, and you _will_ marry someone who would bring Camelot advancement. You will not court this Lady Payton any longer, I forbid it."

" _Father!_ _"_ Arthur protested, pushing himself to his feet. "This is not fair!" He slammed a hand down onto the table.

The moment his hand made contact, the sharp sound echoing through the room, Arthur knew he had gone too far. As his father slowly rose to his feet, Arthur sunk back into his chair with the some amount of agonising slowness. Uther glared at his son a good several minutes before his eyes flickered to the guards stationed at the door.

"Guards! Escort my son to his chambers. He is to remain there until he is ready to show some respect."

As the guards grabbed his arms, Arthur defiantly pushed them away but another whip-like ' _Arthur_ ' had him submitting. As he allowed himself to be marched away, only one thought was racing across his mind. His father could try and stop him from seeing Payton again, but that was all he could do:

_Try._

-)-(-

"Merlin."

Hunith's voice was wearied but her son did not even seem to hear it, instead continuing his incessant pace of the hearth. His hands were knotting together restlessly in front of him and his eyes were narrowed in deep thought. Whatever it was, it was certainly important to him.

" _Merlin."_

The added exasperation managed to capture his attention though, her soon looking at her a tad sheepishly. "Yes Mother?"

Hunith sighed, patting the bench next to her. "Come, sit my son."

Merlin rocked a moment as if in contemplation before meandering over. "Yes?" he asked enquiringly, the perfect incarnation of innocence.

The woman smiled, placing a hand on his cheek. "Would you care to share with me what is on your mind?"

"It's nothing," Merlin replied, shrugging indifferently.

"You know I don't believe that."

Merlin chuckled under his breath, ducking away from her gaze. "Perhaps. But…I don't really think we need to talk about it."

The dusting of pink on his cheeks had Hunith raising her eyebrows and she resisted an eye roll. "I might be able to help."

"I don't think so."

"Merlin, child, you do of course realise that I am a woman."

It was hardest to determine what her son most looked like in the instant that followed; a startled cat or a gaping fish. A combination of the two would undoubtedly have been a more accurate explanation.

"I…" Merlin scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "You know I'm thinking about a girl…?"

Hunith could not resist a laugh. "I am your mother Merlin, and I too was young once. I can hardly say I'm surprised. This would always have been coming." She placed a hand on top of one of his. "Is there someone you find special?"

The immediate flush was the only answer she needed but Merlin still gave a verbal answer, so as not to look _entirely_ foolish. "I uh…I may have…Don't you think Emiline looks beautiful this spring?"

The last question came out so rushed Hunith was amazed she was actually able to decipher it. She did, however, nod straight away. "She has certainly matured since last summer. She is quite the lovely girl now."

"I don't think _lovely_ covers it," Merlin interjected, getting to his feet and resuming his pacing. "More like radiant…bewitching… _enchanting_ …She is the most beautiful girl I have ever beheld."

"Oh Merlin," Hunith sighed, shaking her head with a smile. "You may not always think of her as such…but, for now indeed, you must pursue this."

At that, Merlin seemed to freeze, standing stock still several long seconds before shaking his head. "I cannot Mother."

A frown now. "Why not?"

Merlin's young shoulders slumped even further. "Because Mother. Because of what I am. We both know Emiline would never accept me if she knew what I truly was." The fourteen-year-old scoffed. "I doubt she will even accept me as is!"

" _Merlin!"_

"No Mother, you don't understand! She is beautiful and I…I am nothing but ordinary…if even that…" his voice was a disheartened whisper by the end.

Without a word Hunith swept to her feet, bringing Merlin into her arms and running a reassuring hand through his coarse hair. With a long sigh, Merlin wrapped his own arms around her, bending his neck so his forehead could rest on her shoulder. Hunith's voice was warm and loving when she spoke.

"Listen to me my child. You are a handsome boy. You have the purest heart and the kindest soul of all. This is _nothing_ more I could wish to be bestowed upon you."

"Yeah well, you are kind of biased," Merlin pointed out with a laugh, some of his humour returning.

"You could do without the wit," Hunith mock-scolded, earning another laugh from her son.

He made a show of looking genuinely affronted. "That is my most redeeming feature! And you expect me to hide it?"

Hunith kissed his cheek before moving out into the back field, Merlin following her, taking residence upon the stonewall. As Hunith set about checking on the crops, she remained silent, knowing that Merlin would speak when he was ready, when he had gathered his thoughts and knew exactly what it was he wanted to say.

"Mother?"

"Yes Merlin?" she called, keeping her back turned so she could hide her smile.

"I…What do _you_ suggest I do?"

The question now asked, Hunith turned, devoting her full attention to her child. "Tell her what you think of her. A few flowers would not go astray either."

"Flowers?" he deadpanned.

"There was a time when I loved nothing more than to receive flowers," Hunith revealed softly, the pain in her voice causing Merlin to bite his lip in discomfort, knowing not to pry further lest he bring more pain. "Every woman likes flowers. It makes them feel special, feel appreciated, admired…makes them feel _loved_."

Merlin frowned as he absorbed this information. "But…" he studied his hands furiously. "But what if she does not return my feelings? What if she is indifferent?"

Hunith gave him a firm look. "You cannot live on 'what if's. Nothing ventured is nothing gained. To take risk is a part of life. Every significant event in your life is first wrapped in risk. It is overcoming that risk that allows you to see the gift."

"Do you…" Merlin's ears burnt with embarrassment and Hunith had to admit she found it rather endearing. A smitten son was quite a sight to behold. "Do you think she will not overly dislike me?"

" _Merlin,_ _"_ Hunith scolded, placing her hands on her hips. "Emiline does not hate you if that is what you are attempting to imply. If you are gracious in advances, so will she in return. Be they-" she added firmly when it looked like Merlin might cut in. "-positive _or_ negative. Emiline will not treat you cruelly, she has too kind a heart to do that."

Merlin 'hmm'-ed in thought before going silent, thoughts clearly far away as he examined the sky. Seeing as he was not causing trouble, Hunith did not shoo him away…not until she noticed the occasional flashing of gold in his eyes and the unusual way the clouds were being spun across the sky. The magnificently white clouds were being dispersed and then spread across the expanse of the heavens, as easily as a child smeared a parchment with ink or paint. It was truly breath-taking to see, especially when she was privy to its source.

"Merlin," she called softly, watching his head snap back towards her. "Do not toy with the clouds so. We need the rain."

Realising what he was doing, Merlin immediately stopped, chewing on his bottom lip guiltily. "Sorry Mother."

"It's alright," she reassured. "Now, run along you. I believe there is a certain lady with whom you must speak."

Merlin opened his mouth and then snapped it shut. The next second he shook his head furiously. "I'll tell her tomorrow."

With that, the boy disappeared, vaulting over the fence and making for Will's house. Sighing in exasperation, Hunith returned to her work. If Merlin told Emiline tomorrow she would surely die of fright. It would take the poor boy a good ten days, perhaps more, to muster his courage so.

It was then six days later when Merlin returned home with a mournful look on his face and a broken heart to match. For, despairingly, before he had had the chance to declare his feelings to Emiline, Rowan had done so, the two now courting. And with such close bonds between the two families, Merlin did not see them separating to be a likely possibility. Silently, Hunith would agree with him.

But it was lesson well learnt, and a lesson Merlin did not forget. For when next he met a girl he admired so, Merlin swore he would not hesitate to tell her as much. He would not make this mistake again.

-)-(-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: anyone else notice that every girl Arthur is enchanted/betrothed to is blonde whereas all the girls he actually likes have dark hair? Lol. Arthur is also starting to become defiant. He's a teenager, he's at the point. ;) And I always imagined Merlin to be shy and all bashful when he met someone he liked, but when he met Freya, it was nothing like that so I had to tie the two different reactions together. Hope you enjoyed it.


	10. Age 15: Honesty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Education is the ability to listen to almost anything without losing your temper or your self-confidence." Robert Frost

Laughter echoed around the training field, many of the knights clapping and exchanging degrading remarks – all made at the expense of Spencer, second son of Lord Newarke. The young man had come to Camelot with the hopes of becoming a knight. Arthur had just dismantled such a dream with dishonouring ease.

While only fifteen and not yet of age to become a knight, it was still protocol that every aspiring man face off against the Prince before knighthood would be bestowed. Arthur had proven to be more than a match for many a man, and those that survived against him had the high-standard of talent that Camelot required. And with a record like his under his best, there was very few that Arthur feared.

Even less that he feared enough not to gloat over.

"Did the fight end fast enough for you Spencer?" Arthur taunted, flashing his knights a cocky grin. "Perhaps you might try to end it _quicker_ next time?"

"I hardly think that would be possible my Lord," Caelin called, earning laughs from many of those around him.

Understandably humiliated, Spencer ignored that comments being yelled over him, instead rising to his feet with as much dignity as he could.

"Come now!" Arthur called. "We were just having some fun. Please, stay."

Spencer had to bite his tongue to stop a retort coming out, instead taking a moment to calm himself before replying, "I think there is little more that needs to be said Sire. I will take my leave."

"What? Just like that?" Arthur demanded, a disbelieving look on his face.

The young man gave him a steady look. "You have already bested me Sire. There is nothing more I can do for you."

The prince snorted. "You've certainly got _that_ right. I mean, what use to do I have for a knight that can barely hold a sword? No thank you."

More snickers from around them and Spencer realised that this was a game that was often played. A game, he was sure, Prince Arthur never lost. Since he could not win, Spencer decided his only option was to simply not play at all. He bowed respectfully.

"My Lord."

Seeing the young man leave, Arthur's lip curled in distaste. Honestly, where was the fun when they didn't get annoyed? Usually when he insulted a man's skill they rushed at him, giving him a real fight. Then, _then_ , he got to fight them to the fullness of his abilities. It was no fun when they simply ran away! He supposed he _could_ order Spencer to return, but where would be the satisfaction in _that_?

Huffing in displeasure, Arthur threw his sword to his manservant, the man catching it with only the slightest of fumbles before returning it to its rack. Taking that as a sign that training was over, the other knights filed back towards the palace, their quiet murmurs following them as they discussed strategies, routines, and trips to the tavern. When Arthur finished relaying his many instructions to his servant, he turned, pausing in surprise when he saw Sir Leon standing patiently behind him.

"Sir Leon. Is there something you were after?" Arthur asked, a tad impatiently, annoyed that his fun for the day had been so early in its departure.

The older knight, though one of the youngest still, did not say anything, but the stern look on his face made it more than clear that he most certainly wanted to.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "What is it?"

Leon bowed his head politely. "I do not wish to speak out of turn."

"You're one of my most trusted knights," Arthur said flippantly, waving a hand dismissively. "Speak. Say whatever it is you need to."

"Very well. I think you lack respect."

The prince's jaw dropped. How dare Sir Leon say such a thing? " _Excuse_ _me?_ _"_

The knight gave the barest incline of the head. "You granted me permission to speak plainly Sire. That is all I did."

"In what way do I 'lack respect'?" Arthur demanded, crossing his arms tightly across his chest, eyebrows knitting together to form a scowl.

"Spencer may not have been as talented as what you are used to," Leon said carefully, knowing he was on a knife's edge. "But he does not deserve to be humiliated. He too has pride. I fear you may step too firmly on it."

All the kindness and well-meant intentions could not have soothed Arthur, his temper ignited and his pride battered. His face hardened instantly and, from the darkness that filled his eyes, Leon was sure he was about to pay severely for his words.

" _I_ _do_ _not!_ _"_ Arthur protested. "You know nothing Sir Leon!"

"I know the Code!"

Arthur nearly took a step backward, blinking in shock when he realised Sir Leon had just _yelled_ at him. No one but his father did that…and Morgana sometimes, not that he would admit it. It did give him some satisfaction though to see that Leon himself looked rather mortified when he too became aware of what had just transpired between them. But before he could apologise, Arthur was leaping in, words snarls.

"Are you suggesting I don't know the Code? I've been brought up on it my _entire_ _life_! In what way am I breaking it?" When Leon did not answer, Arthur rolled his eyes. "For heavens sake, whatever more you say, it can hardly do you any _more_ harm. So come, out with it."

Accepting that the prince was right, Sir Leon took a deep breath and locked their gazes, an action, if from the look on Arthur's face was anything to go by, that the prince had _not_ been expecting.

"A knight must refrain from the wanton giving of offence. He must also eschew unfairness and meanness," Leon recited effortlessly.

The words struck home and Arthur could feel his face start to burn with shame. The next moment though he chased it away, reminding himself that he was _Prince_ Arthur; that he did what he wanted and that he did _not_ get spoken to like this.

"Get out of my sight," he ordered, words hemmed with spite. "And do not think my father won't hear about this."

As Arthur stormed back to the castle, frame radiating with anger, Sir Leon could not help but wonder if it were not already too late. Gone was the innocent child that merely wanted a hand on the shoulder. Gone was the boy who _wanted_ support and guidance. Now he was the young man who made his own rules.

And those that did not like it…They were _dealt_ with.

-)-(-

"I really don't think we should be out in this weather."

Merlin's voice was filled with uncertainty, his vibrant eyes scouring the sky, watching the clouds as they rolled in. They were the darkest black and the slightest tinge of green held within their edges informing Merlin that hail was on its way. Once more he turned back to his friend, Will grimacing at the incoming storm himself before continuing on.

"Will, no!" Merlin yelled, sprinting after him.

"Don't!" his friend warned, holding up a hand when Merlin went to grab him. "Mother asked that I collect some honey so that's what I'm doing."

"I don't think she wanted you to do in the process though either!" the slighter of the two exclaimed, shaking his head incredulously. "You're going to get hurt if we get caught in this. Your mother won't mind if we return home empty-handed, not today anyway!"

Will seemed about to protest when a rumble of thunder echoed through the woods. A wind whipped up around them and Will watched Merlin shudder in something more than cold. His eyes flickered left and, seconds later, a fork of lightning came down in that direction. Merlin trembled once more, mere moments before wind howled passed them. If Will knew anything, it was that Merlin understood the weather. He could see what it would do before it happened; it was as though he was attuned to it. He could sense it's severity before it struck…and if this storm had Merlin _shivering_ in fright…

"Yeah, let's go," Will said hurriedly, turning and making back for the village.

They started at a walk, but something in Merlin's nervous air urged Will to move into a jog and, before he knew it, they were sprinting through the forest, running as though the devil himself were on their heels. If only that were true but, for them, they were running _towards_ him. Their only hope was to reach Ealdor and the safety their homes before it struck.

" _The rain!"_

Merlin's roar came exactly as the first droplets fell from the sky; thick, heavy droplets that were painful to the skin and only a tad shy away from freezing. Within ten seconds the pair were drenched but they dared not slow their pace.

" _William!"_

Will only had time to whip his head up when he saw a branch above them come hurling down as its base was struck by lightning. Knowing he did not have time to dodge, Will froze completely when he saw a small boulder come flying out of nowhere, slamming into the falling limb, splitting it in half and sending it crashing to the ground a good two feet from him. Whirling around, Will was just in time to see Merlin's eyes change from gold to blue.

Knowing he had not been quick enough in letting his magic subside, Merlin paled upon realising he had been caught out. As Will's eyes widened, the young warlock stumbled a step back. The next minute he was running. Shouted calls came from behind him but he ignored them, knowing he was going to be condemned.

"Merlin!"

The rain was blinding and it was blistering cold but Merlin found he did not even notice. His only thoughts were of running and of the sheer panic that filled his head. Everything his mother had worked towards, all the secrets she had kept, they were now all useless. All because he could not have hidden his powers. All because he could not have been born _normal_.

" _Merlin!"_

Because he had _magic_.

" _ **Merlin!"**_

Will managed to grab his friend around the waist and yank him back right before he blindly ran over the lip of a ravine, a fall that would've surely ended in his death. The young men fell back onto the ground, Will panting as the entirely of what had nearly just happened caught up with him, and Merlin gasping and sobbing.

" _I_ _'_ _m_ _sorry!_ _"_ Merlin cried, scrambling to his feet and tucking his hands into his armpits. "I didn't ask to be this way! I'm sorry! _I_ _'_ _m_ _sorry!_ "

Will made to grab him but his friend shied away, muttering more apologies under his breath, stammering them faster than Will was capable of hearing them. "Merlin…" he breathed.

"No, I'm sorry!" The fifteen-year-old insisted, eyes pleading as they turned to him. "I would never use my powers to hurt you, I swear! I can control them, I…I promise you I can. I _won_ _'_ _t_ hurt you! I didn't…I _won_ _'_ _t_. Will, please, I'm _begging_ you… _Please_."

There was a long beat of silence, neither of them saying anything, Merlin chewing his lip and shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably.

"How long have you had magic?"

Merlin's head snapped up at the question but he nodded shortly before answering. "All my life. I…I was born with it. I didn't have a choice."

"You've always had magic?"

Merlin nodded hurriedly. "Yes, I promise. I wouldn't lie to you about this."

Will hesitated a moment before marching forward, a fist clenched. Before Merlin knew what as happening he was on the ground, a hand numbly moving to his smarting cheek, unable to believe his best friend had just punched him.

" _Why didn't you ever tell me?"_

Merlin blinked twice, peering at his friend through the torrential rain. "You're…you're not angry at me?"

Will scoffed. "Only that you didn't tell me. I thought we were friends Merlin."

"We were… _are_!" he hastily corrected. "Are you…Are you saying you're okay…with me having magic?"

"I…" Will clucked his tongue in thought. "Well, it is a little incredible," he admitted, holding out a hand.

Merlin tentatively took it, allowing himself to be pulled up but remaining a safe distance away. "That's really it? You're not going to hit me when my back's turned or put poison mushrooms in my dinner?"

Will stared at him blankly before laughing. "No Merlin, I'm not. Like I told you, I'm your friend, and friends are loyal, _no_ _matter_ _what_."

Confident now that he wasn't going to be drowned or something equally disastrous, Merlin cracked a smile. "I guess this'd be one of those 'no matter what' moments then?"

"Something like that," Will agreed, bumping their shoulders together. "Now come on, before we really _do_ die in this."

Merlin nodded and, as always, followed Will as his friend started jogging back towards Ealdor. His mother was going to have a fit when he got home. Merlin froze. His mother…

"Will," he called desperately. "You can't tell my mother you know!"

There was a chuckle from up ahead. "Yeah, I figured! Now hurry up before she roasts us both!"

Merlin shook his head with a smile, running after his friend. His friend that now knew. His friend that knew about his magic. Knew and still liked him. Merlin grinned; this was a good day.

-)-(-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: poor Leon. He tried to do what Merlin later succeeds in doing and gets chewed out. Arthur's still a bit too immature to handle being reprimanded by others. And Will knows about Merlin! Also, another sad note, but probably only a chapter or two to go of this. I figure I'm going to end it when they meet. :)


	11. Age 18: Disappointment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The sudden disappointment of a hope leaves a scar which the ultimate fulfillment of that hope never entirely removes." ~ Thomas Hardy

"I'd be careful if I were you. Too much pressure and you most certainly _will_ break that arm."

Arthur did not respond, his good hand toying with the sling that was wrapped around his left arm. Suffice to say, the tournament had not gone as he had expected. To lose in the final had not been his intention. A sprained shoulder and a fractured arm did little to ease his humiliation.

"Here Sire," Gaius interrupted, holding a vial out to him. "It will help ease the pain," the physician added upon seeing his confused expression.

Arthur shook his head, pushing it away. "I don't need it." The prince pushed himself to his feet, making for the door. "This pain is the least I deserve."

"Arthur."

The softness in the tone was surprising and the young man could not help but turn around. Gaius shook his head sadly as he took a step closer.

"Your fight today could not have gone any other way. Sir Rodrick would always have beaten you. I hope you are not punishing yourself for your loss."

Arthur flushed but turned away, masking his expression. "I'm sure your intentions are good Gaius, but I am afraid I do not see things the way you do. I should not have failed."

"Sire…!"

Gaius never had a chance to finish his sentence, the prince slipping out of his quarters and vanishing into the hallway beyond. He had to consciously keep his feet from dragging along the ground; there was enough exhaustion in him to fill a book with. And while he wanted nothing more than to return to his chambers and sleep off his pain, Arthur knew that his father would want to see him. They had not spoken since before the tournament and Arthur wished he could avoid this conversation all together.

Alas, that would not be allowed and so he figured he ought to get it over with, preferably sooner than later.

Reaching the throne room, Arthur waited for the guards to open the doors before striding inside, head held high as though he had nothing to be ashamed of. His father was standing by his throne, pointedly turned away so his back was to his son.

"Sire."

Silence swamped the room and when Uther turned around, Arthur wondered if perhaps he had truly been a fool in coming here. His father's expression was nothing short of murderous.

"What happened in that arena today?" Uther demanded, voice hushed, something that only seemed to make it more menacing.

Arthur's right hand subconsciously came up to rub his aching shoulder. "I tried Father. I gave my all in my fight against Sir Rodrick." He shrugged a shoulder. "Today he was the better man."

"The better man," Uther scoffed. "He was most certainly _not_. It was only your incompetence that failed you today."

Arthur gaped. "He had a good near eight stone on me! Not to mention he was almost twice my age!"

"Size does not determine how a battle is won!"

"It _certainly_ helps!" Arthur shot back. "Add in his experience!" He shook his head. "…What chance did I stand Father?"

The king's eyes flashed dangerously. "You had every chance. You were simply weak. You did not look for the advantages given to you, nor did you try hard enough. Where is your honour, your _pride_?"

"Father…"

"You are the _prince_ of Camelot, my _son_! The people will not want you to rule them if you cannot even win a simple tournament, _do_ _you_ _understand_?"

Arthur nearly flinched at the volume of that final bellow, only remaining his place because of his overwhelming self-control. Still, his head was bowed when he finally replied, "I understand Father."

Uther eyed his son for a long moment before moving away, eyebrows knitting together as he fell into deep thought. Arthur stood awkwardly, unsure as to whether he was dismissed or not. He had just started to take a step back when his father's voice rang out again, echoing through the chamber.

"It is obvious to me that you have become too slack in your training." Uther's voice was a disconcerting rumble. "You no longer take your duties seriously."

There was no hiding the anger and offence that marred Arthur's features. " _I_ _do_ _not_!" he violently protested. " _Nothing_ is more important to me than my duties to Camelot!"

Uther scowled at him. "Apparently not. To atone for your failure you will spend a week in the dungeons. Hopefully while in there you will be able to realign your priorities."

" _Father_!" His tone was nothing but indignant. "This is-"

A finger suddenly being thrust in his face had Arthur cutting his argument short, his father's warning gaze angering him now instead of scaring him as it had done in his youth. It was, however, the next words that caused him to be led to the dungeons meekly and without protest.

"You are mine and Camelot's greatest disappointment at present. Do not make yourself more so."

-)-(-

The frightened shriek of a small child captured everyone's attention, heads whipping up everywhere across Ealdor. Those inside came outside, and those out back raced round front. Both Merlin and Hunith jerked up from the entryway from their cottage, both heads popping outside.

It was Merlin that tracked the sound first.

It was Merlin that saw young Tobias slip from the thatch roof of his house, his father scrambling for him even as he knew it was too late.

And it was Merlin that moved the straw that made up the thatch roof so that Tobias' hand become caught, preventing the child from falling to the ground.

But it was Hunith that saw the expert shifting of his eyes and also the amount of people that were gathered outside…People that could have _seen_.

Merlin turned to her with a wide smile on his face, eyes dancing with pride and crinkling with delight…only to fall at the look on her face. "…Mother?" he asked tentatively.

" _Inside._ "

The eighteen-year-old shied away from the uncommon tone, head bowed submissively as he ducked inside. His feet shuffled towards the hearth, eyes never leaving the ground and bottom lip pulled between his teeth. Hearing the front door shut behind his mother, Merlin swallowed nervously, eyes flickering once in her direction before skittering away once more.

" _Merlin_."

"I'm sorry!" he apologised immediately, the moisture in his eyes revealing his sincerity. "But I couldn't Mother! I couldn't let him fall. _I_ could save Tobias…I _did_!"

"Merlin, half the village was watching!" Hunith interrupted, voice firmer than he had ever heard and holding something else he could not quite identify.

" _Was_ _I_ _supposed_ _to_ _have_ _let_ _him_ _die?_ " Merlin demanded.

Hunith hung her head, shaking it ever so slightly.

"Mother," Merlin whispered, coming towards her and taking her hands in his. "What else could I have done? Why do I have this…powers if I'm not meant to use them?"

The woman sighed, removing her hands from his to reach them up to cup his face. "That is a question I don't have an answer for. But I _know_ , your gifts are not to be used _here_."

"Then where Mother?" Seeing that she again had no answer, Merlin tore himself away, running a hand through his hair. "Would it really be so bad if people found out? Why do I have to hide what I am?"

" _Merlin!"_

"No," Merlin shook his head adamantly. " _Why_ _must_ _I_ _hide?_ "

Hunith's face became swamped with sadness and she turned away, the despair in her posture so great that Merlin reached an arm out towards her without even thinking. "Because while you are hidden you are safe," she murmured. "You cannot be hunted if people do not know to look for you. How can they look for what they do not know exists?"

"Maybe everyone could keep it a secret?" Merlin suggested, eyes burning with boyish hope. "Maybe no one in Ealdor would tell anyone else. Then no one would find out. Well, no except those who we'd told of course. And…and we could pick who we tell."

"Merlin," Hunith called, cutting through his ramblings. "A secret cannot remain between a group of people unless all but one are dead."

"That's not true."

The force of the statement had Hunith blinking in shock. She had never seen Merlin so stern and defiant in his words before.

"Will knows."

If Merlin was hoping for Hunith to suddenly understand his point of view upon hearing this statement, he was thoroughly let down. Her eyes widened in shock at first, but once realisation set in, there was almost an anger that came upon her normally gentle features.

"You told Will?"

Merlin stepped back nervously, uneasy around this new side of his mother. "I…Well, he found out. I didn't mean to tell him!"

"When?"

"When what?" he asked, head cocked to one side.

"When did you tell him?"

Merlin shrugged sheepishly. "Two, maybe three years ago."

That undertone he'd heard earlier now came out in full and Merlin instantly realised what is was: disappointment. "You mean to say that Will has now for _years_ and you did not _think_ to tell me?"

"I-I did!" Merlin stammered. "But I…I knew you'd be angry…so…so I…"

"So you lied to me. Merlin," Hunith looked like she might cry and Merlin felt his heart tear, knowing this was his doing. "You swore to me no one knew! You, my boy who would never lie…you have been lying to _me_. Do you not trust me?"

"N-no!" Merlin yelled, shaking his head furiously. "I trust you Mother, I do! I…I just didn't want to disappoint you. I wanted you to think that I was still a secret, that I hadn't let you down."

Hunith shook head. "And by doing so, by _lying_ to me, you have disappointed me more. I'm very disappointed in you, my child."

-)-(-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: a little short but I didn't think it needed to be longer . Both Merlin and Arthur came out worse off in this one. :P


	12. Age 20: Magnetism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "A half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole." ~ Kilgharrah

The buildings, the streets, the people, but mostly, the _noise_ – those were what bombarded Merlin's senses the most. This Camelot was nothing like Ealdor. Just being in its walls caused his nerves to jitter and his to pulse race. If he could keep his magic under control as his mother had instructed – though that, admittedly, was already not going so _entirely_ well – he figured he might very well enjoy living here.

"There, sire?"

"That's into the sun."

The two different voices snagged Merlin's attention and brought him out of his internal musings. Stepping out of the cool alcove he had been pleasantly strolling through, Merlin pulled himself up beside a training field.

"…It's not that bright."

The first voice spoke again and, replaying his words, Merlin figured he ought to be some sort of servant. Which meant…

"A bit like you, then."

… _He_ was the master.

Merlin raised his eyebrows at the blond man opposite. There didn't look like too much of an age difference between them, but he figured that to be their only similarity. Merlin knew it was unwise to judge a book by a cover, but many assumptions were made as such and whoever this lord, or whatever he was, was, he certainly had an attitude that no doubt matched his title, and _then_ some.

"Hey, hang on!"

Glancing over, Merlin frowned when he saw the dagger now embedded into the round shield the servant was holding. The lord – Merlin figured he may as well refer to him as such until a proper title was revealed – simply spread his arms, laughing.

"Don't stop! I told you," he yelled in response to his servant's next query. "We want some _moving_ target practice."

Two daggers, three daggers, four and then more. Merlin stopped counting when the panting servant deposited himself at his feet, shield slipping from his fumbling grip. Without hesitation or thought, Merlin set his foot atop it, throwing an easy smile across the way.

"Hey. Come on, that's enough."

The lord blinked at him in surprise, incredulous. "What?" he demanded.

Merlin shrugged simply. "You've had you fun, my friend."

He was met with a piercing gaze. "Do I know you?"

Realising his mistake, Merlin quickly held out his hand. "Uh, I'm Merlin."

His hand was promptly ignored. "So I don't know you?"

"No," Merlin answered slowly, suddenly unsure as to where this was going.

"Yet you called me 'friend'," was the smart retort thrown his way.

"That was my mistake."

His new acquaintance nodded proudly to himself, head held high. "Yes, I think so."

"Yeah," Merlin jumped in, unable to resist the opportunity that had just been handed to him. "I'd never have a friend who could be such an ass."

A chuckle that was laced with both amusement and confusion was given to him. "Or I one who could be so stupid." The lord swaggered over, a hand resting on his sword hilt warningly, sending a very clear message as to who was in charge. "Tell me, Merlin, do you know how to walk on your knees?"

Hiding a growl behind a smile, Merlin shook his head, the epitome of breeziness. "No."

"Would you like me to help you?"

Even though he heard the seriousness in that question, Merlin couldn't help but laugh shortly. "I wouldn't if I were you."

"Why?" the lord pressed, spreading his arms cockily. "What are you gonna do to me?"

Merlin tilted his head, thoroughly wishing this man would just give up and give them all some peace. Arrogant prat seemed determined to make a spectacle of this. "You have no idea."

"Be my guest. Come on. Come on!"

Merlin ignored the goading well enough until a highly exaggerated, "Come onnn," was drawled out. Quickly glancing around and seeing the crowd that had since formed, Merlin decided best to end this now before it got out of hand. And if he had to hand himself over to defeat, well, so be it. One last furtive glance was cast before he lashed out, arm flying.

Before he could even blink, his arm was caught, twisted, and yanked behind his back, causing him to hiss in pain.

"I'll have you thrown in jail for that."

Merlin turned his head as much as he could to glare darkly at his captor. "Who do you think you are? The king?"

The smug look on the man's face was enough. And then came his answer, and Merlin truly did wish he could die right then and there:

"No, I'm his son, _Arthur_."

He was in for it now.

-)-(-)-(-

Arthur shook his head, laughing loudly as he and his friends skirted round a rather large pile of horse manure. Leofwin was half-way through some no doubt witty remark when Arthur's attention was wrenched away, eyes instead latching onto the form of that idiotic fool who had spoke out against him yesterday. Merlin, he thought his name to be.

"How's your knee walking coming along?" he called out mockingly, causing his friends to turn and snigger when they saw who it was he was addressing. To the man's credit, he didn't react. However, Arthur was less than impressed with that. "Oh, don't run away!" he whined, teeth glinting as his grinned wolfishly, knowing he had won when the man stopped.

"From you?" came the reply.

"Oh, thank God," Arthur said, mock-relief swamping his words. "Thought you were dumb as well as deaf."

Merlin turned around, shaking his head and smiling tiredly. "Look, I've told you you're an ass. I just didn't realise you were a royal one."

Arthur didn't know whether to laugh or be insulted. He'd never encountered a reaction such as this from anyone. He was usually met with the utmost respect. Even his friends, who _very_ occasionally teased him, would never be so bold. He looked to Edmund, Caelin, and Leofwin in disbelief, unable to believe what he was hearing. Until…

"Oh, what are you going to do? Get you daddy's men to protect you?"

Stunned, Arthur couldn't help but chuckle, turning back to the young man with a hint of warning in his eyes, his pride marred. "I could take you apart with one blow."

"I could take you apart with less."

Arthur would've widened his eyes had he been less well trained. But all thoughts of amusement were quickly being chased from his brain. He did not get spoken to in such a way, and he most certainly did not get spoken to in such a way by _commoners_. This Merlin truly needed to be taught a lesson…and preferably in a way that showered him with humiliation. Arthur smirked to himself. In that case, _any_ sort of fight would be favourable to him.

Which was why he tossed Merlin a mace, coaxing the boy into fighting him, goading him on.

"I warn you. I've been trained to kill since birth," he boasted.

"Wow." Oh how he hated the amount of sarcasm that one word held. "And how long have you been training to be a prat?"

Arthur scowled at him internally, indignant, yet humoured, disbelief visible on the outside. "You can't address me like that." Didn't Merlin get it? He was _Prince_ _Arthur_.

"Sorry." A mocking bow. "How long have you been training to be a prat… _my_ _Lord_?"

Apparently not.

Every outward sign of humour dropped and Arthur leapt into action, startled gasps coming from around them, all those in the marketplace having gathered to watching the imminent fight. This boy needed to be taught a lesson and while Arthur may have gone easy on him yesterday, that would not be the case today. This _Merlin_ needed to learn some respect; the sooner the better.

How so many inanimate objects could escape his peripheral vision was beyond him, but Arthur was perhaps more so focused on the gleeful expression Merlin had since adopted, the youth seemingly struggling to refrain from laughing, taunting him as he asked him whether he wanted to give in. As if he, Prince Arthur, would ever bow to such a nobody! He was Camelot's champion! Which he promptly proved when Merlin became distracted, the young prince giving him several firm _whacks_ with a nearby broom, sweeping the ground condescendingly once Merlin had fallen to the ground, as if cleaning the floor of the boy's pitiful existence. The fearsome spark in Merlin's blue eyes had him raising a hand when the guards restrained him.

"Wait," he ordered. "Let him go. He may be an idiot but he's a brave one." Two steps and then Arthur was in front of Merlin, studying him intently, genuinely intrigued. "There's something about you, Merlin. I can't quite put my finger on it."

With that he strode away, but something deep inside was gnawing at him, drawn to this man as if by an invisible force. Something about him…something about him was different. Arthur's eyebrows knotted together in thought. Perhaps one day he might work out exactly what that difference was.

That is to say, of course, that he _ever_ saw this 'Merlin' again. He doubted it.

-)-(-)-(-

"No, absolutely. This merits something quite special."

"Well…"

Merlin would be the first to say that he was _extremely_ uncomfortable right now. He did not like to be the centre of the attention ever, and certainly not in front of such a large gathering of royal and noble people. He'd much rather still be hidden in the shadows and prefer that no one realise that it was he who had saved Arthur.

Mind you, that would be rather difficult, seeing as how he had pulled Arthur away from the spinning dagger _personally_. Merlin resisted the urge to slap his own forehead in frustration.

Now he was standing in front of dozens of nobles, all of them looking at him in mixtures of pride, amazement, and intrigue, every expression holding the faintest tinge of thanks. Oh, and the King was addressing him, how wonderful. He had no idea how to talk to a king! His dealings with Arthur certainly weren't anything to go by!

"You shall be awarded a position in the royal household," Uther seemed to decide, clapping Arthur on the shoulder.

Merlin felt a slither of relief shoot through him. That meant this entire ordeal would be over within seconds. Not to mention he would be saved the trouble of having to look for work.

"You shall be Prince Arthur's manservant."

Merlin choked on the very air he was breathing. _Oh_ _God_ _no!_

-)-(-)-(-

"No, absolutely. This merits something quite special."

"Well…"

Arthur really didn't even know what he was thinking right now; so many thoughts were whirring through his head at an incomprehensible speed. First, this _Merlin_ had pulled him out of way of a dagger, a dagger which, if had struck its intended target, no doubt would have killed him. Second of all, Lady Helen had no in fact been Lady Helen and had just tried to take his life. Thirdly, had his father honestly just referred to him as 'my boy'? In _public_?

Wait… _Merlin_ had saved _his_ life?

Arthur thought he might be sick at the very thought. How could someone so utterly useless save _him_ , Camelot's ultimate killing machine?

"You shall be awarded a position on the royal household."

Arthur's face morphed into a grimace, his only reason behind not speaking out being the hand clapped onto his shoulder, a hand whose tight squeezed firmly ordered him in no uncertain terms to keep his mouth _shut_.

"You shall be Prince Arthur's manservant."

Nothing, not even the very chains of Hell could prevent it:

" _Father!"_

He glanced at Merlin in revulsion, being met with the exact reaction before they both stubbornly turned away, Arthur's face morphing into disgust. God help him.

-)-(-)-(-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:alas, indeed, the end. You would not believe how stoked I was when I watched episode 1 again and discovered Arthur really does have three friends who follow him everywhere…in this episode anyway. They kinda disappear after this. :P

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: so Arthur's bit turned out longer but it won't always be that way. Hope you liked this first part.


End file.
